


Cor Cordium: The Bartender

by going rogue (onlyastoryteller)



Series: Cor Cordium: A Neighborhood Pub [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-05 10:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 127,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16366247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyastoryteller/pseuds/going%20rogue
Summary: AU. Armie owns a pub in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Tim is a singer-songwriter. When Tim walks into Cor Cordium to fill in for a sick performer, Armie knows in an instant that there's something special about the kid...but what exactly does that mean for him and his plans for the future?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story popped into my head recently, and simply wouldn't let go. I'm cheating on my other fics for this, but sometimes you have to go where the muse points you. (I promise you, the other isn't abandoned...just postponed.)
> 
> The good news is that this is nearly complete, which means that I should be able to stick to a weekly posting schedule.
> 
> This is my first full AU, so...enjoy?

**_Part One: The Bartender_ **

**Chapter 1**

On a good night,  _ Cor Cordium _ packed in 400 patrons, all knocking back a wide selection of cocktails and beers on tap, munching on an assortment of pub food, and generally having a good time. It was a loud and boisterous and generally friendly crowd of regulars, tourists, and students from the dozen local colleges and universities. 

Armie liked the crowded nights. He enjoyed slinging cocktails and playing wingman and surveying this small space he had carved out in the world. It was his, and he loved seeing people enjoying it. 

But sometimes, he preferred it when the bar was so quiet you didn’t know for sure it was open when you walked in. There was something about the empty spaces, the canned music on low, the subtle clink of a single glass hitting the bar top every once in a while. He enjoyed the time to think his thoughts, to make deeper connections with his customers through actual conversation. It was soothing in the same way the crowded nights were invigorating. 

Armie’s soul needed both, and he had created that balance with  _ Cor Cordium _ .

That afternoon, there were three customers: a pair of students in a corner booth having a drinking study session, and one of his regulars perched at the end of the bar, nursing a glass of wine and reading a book. Armie restocked clean glasses in preparation for the evening crowd and continued his discussion with the only other person in the bar, his manager Nick. 

“You sure you don’t mind covering tonight?” Nick asked again. “I know it’s the third time this month, and I swear—“

“I don’t mind,” said Armie. “And I know it’s not a permanent thing. How often are you planning on putting a wedding together?”

Nick grinned. “Only this one time, I hope. Stacy is a wreck all the time, worried about all the planning, and it’s driving me nuts. I’m trying to help where I can, but mostly she just wants me to be there for whatever.”

Armie moved on to prepping garnishes. He pulled a handful of limes out of a crate and lined them up on the cutting board. 

“What’s on deck for this evening? Appointment with the caterer? Band auditions?” he asked. 

“Dinner with her parents. Which should be torture. Her Dad flew in last night and will be here through the wedding, and Stace is afraid her parents will start World War three being in the same place for so long.” He rolled his eyes, but Armie could tell his anxieties were real.

“Does he like scotch?” asked Armie. Nick nodded.

“Loves it,” said Nick.

Armie turned and unlocked the cabinet under the rear counter. He pulled out an unopened Glenlivet XXV and held it toward Nick.

Nick raised his palms in the air and shook his head. “No way, man,” he said. “I can’t afford that.”

Armie shrugged. “I can. I was going to open it for us for your bachelor party anyway. Go ahead and take it now, instead. Soothe the beast.”

Nick hesitated. “You were really going to crack this open for the bachelor party?”

“I really was.”

Nick grinned. “Best friend ever. But I’m not taking it. Save it for us. The old man will make due with something a little more affordable.”

Armie merely smiled in response, and returned the Glenlivet to its secure home. He cleaned up the garnish prep and wiped the counter down.

Nick watched him a moment, and then sighed. “I’d rather be here, but I better get going. You all set for the evening?”

Armie gave Nick a look. “I own the place, remember?” he said. “I think I can handle it.”

“Yeah, but you’d be lost without me.” He slid off his stool. “We still on for Sunday night?” 

Armie grimaced. He had nearly forgotten about that. Nick and his fiancé had agreed to accompany him and his girlfriend, Liz, to a charity dinner. It was exactly the kind of event Armie hated. He’d have to wear a tuxedo, and uncomfortable shoes, and talk to the kind of people who attended expensive charity dinners. 

He had grown up in that world, and there was a reason he owned a little pub that catered to the university and local population in North Cambridge rather than a high end wine bar on Newbury. Or — Armie shuddered at the thought — became a lawyer or entered the family business like his father had wanted. 

Liz enjoyed it, however. And since her career in public relations benefited from her making and nurturing influential contacts, he couldn’t begrudge her requests that he use his name to open certain doors for her. Like getting tickets to this event that, in some circles, was much anticipated. 

“Yeah. I really appreciate you and Stacy making time for that. I know you’re busy. But god...I’m glad you’ll both be there to keep me sane.” He rolled his eyes. 

“It’s our pleasure. Okay, I’m out. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, dredge the Charles to find my body.” Nick exchanged a wave with the man at the end of the bar and left. 

Without asking, Armie retrieved the open bottle of sangiovese and topped off the regular’s wine glass, getting a smile and a nod of gratitude in return. A pair of professors — more regulars — walked in and settled themselves at a table by the front windows. Armie brought them each their standard beer order and chatted with them about the cooling fall weather. He checked on the studying students, cleared their plates, and dropped the check. He fiddled with one of the soda guns, which had been acting up the day before, and decided it would be okay for the night. 

Everything stayed quiet. He knew the evening would pick up. Thursdays were “thirsty” around this neck of the woods, and crowds of student groups and local coworker cliques would be arriving after dinner, looking to start the weekend early. People liked the laid back atmosphere of  _ Cor Cordium _ , the drinks selection, the service, and the live music.

In the meantime, however, he still had some time before the rest of the evening staff arrived and things kicked into gear. He had settled in to work on building next week’s food order when the phone rang. 

“Cor Cordium Pub,” Armie said into the handset. 

“Hey, this is Eric. Is Nick around?” asked a scratchy voice. 

“Nick’s not here at the moment. Could I help you instead?”

“Sure. I need to let Nick know I’m not going to make it tonight. I’m really sorry but I’m —“ Eric coughed harshly “—super sick.”

Eric. Armie searched his mind, and then realized who he was talking to. “Wait, Eric the singer? You were supposed to play tonight?”

“Right. But—“

“You’re sick, right.” Armie sighed. “Okay. Thanks for letting us know. I hope you feel better.”

“Yeah, man, me too.”

Armie hung up the phone and rubbed a hand across his forehead. Nick usually handled the bookings. He probably had a list somewhere of backup acts to call. They hadn’t missed a live music night in the two years since he had installed the small raised platform at the back end of the pub. 

He pulled out his cell and tapped out a text message. 

_ Armie: Hey, tonight’s act canceled. Is there backup? _

The response was immediate. 

_ Nick: Of course. I’ll email you the spreadsheet. What’s up with Eric? _

_ Armie: Sick. Any recommendations? _

_ Nick: Virginia Lane is usually up for a last-minute gig, and Sweet London (they’re a trio) has been trying to get in for a while. Might want to give them a shot.  _

_ Armie: Thanks, man.  _

_ Nick: Need me to come back and deal with this? _

_ Armie: No, I got it. Enjoy your dinner.  _

_ Nick: Like I said, I’d rather be there. _

Armie grinned. Hiring his best friend from childhood to manage his bar had been the best decision he had ever made. If only Nick would agree to become his partner...but the guy insisted he preferred being the big man’s number two. 

Unfortunately, thirty minutes later, he was still without a live act. Each of the people he called was unavailable at such short notice. He sighed again, resigning himself to posting an apologetic sign and resorting to canned music. He hated disappointing his customers, but he didn’t see another option. 

He’d offer a drink special. That would go a long way to making people happy. 

“No luck?”

Armie looked down the bar at his regular. The man’s glass was empty again, so he grabbed the wine and headed over. 

“You heard?” he asked, holding up the bottle In question. 

The man nodded and offered up his glass. Armie poured. 

“It’s not that big a deal, really,” said Armie. “It’s just a point of pride, and not wanting to disappoint anyone.”

“You know,” said the man, “I may know someone for you.”

“Really? Who?”

“A friend. He is a singer-songwriter. Local. Beautiful voice, thoughtful lyrics. He would fit here, I think.” 

Armie’s heart leapt. “Can you call him? We pay.” 

The man pulled a phone out of his breast pocket and, a moment later, was speaking softly. He held out the phone.

“Here he is,” said the man. 

Armie took the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey,” said a soft, hesitant voice. “This is Timmy — this is Tim. You need someone to play at your bar tonight?”

“Maybe,” said Armie. “Our act canceled, and I’m having trouble replacing him on short notice. Where have you played before?”

“Oh, I haven’t really...you know, here and there.”

Armie paused. “Where? I know most of the pubs in the area.”

There was silence from the other end. Armie waited. It was sounding like this kid — and he was a kid, of that Armie was sure, based on the sound of his voice — had no experience. 

Finally, Tim cleared his throat. “Nowhere official. A handful of open mics. And…I sometimes play down in the T.”

“You’re a busker?” asked Armie. That was different. A busker has experience. 

“Yeah...trying to be, anyhow.”

“You any good?”

Tim laughed. “You think I’m gonna tell you if I suck? I don’t suck, by the way.”

Armie grinned. Either the kid was good and his night was saved, or the kid was terrible and he’d ask him to leave after his first set. 

Besides, he couldn’t explain it, but he had a...feeling. He wasn’t sure if it was the tone of Tim’s voice or something else, but he had a sense that everything was going to work out just fine. 

“Okay,” said Armie. “I’ll give you a shot. Just be here by six-thirty to set up. You know where we are?”

“Davis Square, right?” Tim asked. “I’ve heard of your place.”

“Good,” said Armie. “We have sound equipment; amps, cords, speakers, etc., but if you’ve got special personal preferences feel free to bring in your own. You’ll just have to set it all up yourself."

“I can use your set-up, no problem,” said Tim.

“Listen, here’s what I can offer you.” Armie named a figure. It was higher than he’d normally pay a first time performer, but the kid was getting him out of a tight spot. “And dinner, if you want to come a little early. It’s just pub food, but it’s decent.”

“Yeah,” said Tim. “Sounds good. See you in a couple hours.”

“Looking forward to it,” said Armie. 

He hung up the phone and turned back to his customer. 

“Thanks, Luca,” he said handing back the phone. “You’re a lifesaver. Drinks on the house.”

“Ah, you barely charge me for half of what I consume anyway,” said Luca, his Italian accent rolling off of his tongue. “It’s my pleasure. You will like Timothée. It is a match made in heaven, I think.”

_ Timothée.  _ Not  _ Tim _ or  _ Timmy.  _ Armie rolled the name around in his head. 

He retrieved a pad of paper and a pen and slid it to Luca. 

“Write down his name for me,” said Armie, “so I can make up some signs.”

He waved at the rest of the kitchen staff, who were just arriving. The evening waitstaff would soon follow. His quiet day was nearly over. 

But he was now really looking forward to what the evening would bring. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim arrives at Cor Cordium to fill in, and Armie is...enchanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go...
> 
> I didn't say this last time, but obviously, this is 100% fiction.
> 
> Playlist for tone-setting purposes at the end.
> 
> The real Davis Square (in Somerville, not in Cambridge, but super close to the border) is adorable:
> 
> https://pixels.com/featured/somerville-ma-davis-square-diesel-cafe-at-blue-hour-toby-mcguire.html
> 
> https://fineartamerica.com/featured/a-stroll-through-davis-square-somerville-ma-toby-mcguire.html
> 
> https://thesomervillenewsweekly.blog/2018/06/24/new-davis-square-traffic-and-pedestrian-signal-pattern-begins-june-27/

**Chapter 2**

It was just before six. There was a small but growing crowd for happy hour, about average for a Thursday night. While he performed multiple duties during the weekday shifts while it was quiet, at night Armie tended to stay behind the bar, keep a watchful eye, and let his competent staff handle things, stepping in only when he was needed. At the moment, his waitstaff and kitchen seemed to have everything under control.

He slid a beer towards a tired-looking man in a rumpled suit and began to mix a moscow mule for a blonde who was doing her level best to flirt with him. He was politely brushing off her less-than-subtle advances when the door opened. It had been opening and closing for the past hour, but for some reason, Armie looked over.

Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the street beyond, was a tall, thin figure. He had chin-length, unruly-looking hair. A tan messenger bag was nestled against his hip, and he carried a large green army-navy duffle in one hand and a guitar case in the other.

It had to be Tim. Timmy. Timothée. Whatever he wanted to be called, it had to be the musician. Armie hadn’t thought he was bringing his own equipment, so he wondered about the duffle. It looked to be full, and heavy.

Armie glanced at the clock. Six on the dot. The kid was punctual, which was a plus. Showing up half an hour before the time they agreed was an excellent sign. He passed the completed drink to the blonde (ignoring the way she brushed her fingertips against his where they clutched the cold mug), signaled for another bartender to handle her tab, wiped his hands on a rag, and ducked out from behind the bar.

As he approached, Tim stepped clear of the door, acknowledging customers who were trying to pass through. He scanned the room and spotted Armie heading towards him. Was it Armie’s imagination, or had Tim’s eyes widened slightly?

“Hi,” he said. “Tim?”

Tim gazed up at him. “Holy shit, you’re tall,” he said.

Armie laughed in surprise at the blunt comment. “Yeah, I am.”

Tim blushed, his pale cheeks brightening in a delightful rose color. “Sorry, that was rude” he said. “Jesus, Timmy. Way to be an asshole."

“It’s okay,” said Armie. “It just made you sound honest.”

“Yeah, well…” Tim dropped his duffle on the floor and stuck his right hand out towards Armie. “I’m Tim. You were right about that.”

Armie grasped Tim’s thin fingers in his own monstrous paws, trying not to crush the kid’s delicate-looking bones in his less than gentle grip. “Armie Hammer,” he said. “I talked to you on the phone earlier. This is my place.”

“Armie,” said Tim. He mouthed the name, and then said it again, as if trying it out. “Armie. Short for Armand?”

“Yep. Nice and pompous and aristocratic. I prefer Armie, even if it’s a little ridiculous.”

“Try being named Timothée,” said Tim, pronouncing his name with a gentle lisp. “And trying to convince people you’re from New York, and not a total snob.”

“So you’re not a total snob?” asked Armie.

“Oh, I am. But I like to pretend I’m not sometimes.” Armie laughed, and Tim grinned back.

Armie found himself staring at Tim’s mouth, his white teeth, the way his dark hair curled around his cheekbone and the edge of his jaw, brushing the translucent skin just so. It made him feel...funny. Like he wanted to grasp the curl, roll it between his fingers.

He blinked. What was he doing?

“Did you bring your own equipment?” he asked, shaking off the odd thoughts.

Tim’s brows came together in confusion, and Armie pointed at the duffle.

“Oh. No, that’s…” Tim looked away. “Just some stuff I picked up from a friend on my way here.”

“Well, why don’t you come back to the office,” Armie said. “You can stow anything you don’t want on stage with you. The office locks.”

He gestured for Tim to follow, and began to thread his way through the growing crowd.

When he glanced back to make sure Tim was keeping up, the kid jerked his chin towards the front windows. “I see you used my full name on the signs.”

Armie hesitated. “Yeah. Luca gave me your name, and I didn’t really think about it. Was that — is that not what you perform under? I should have—“

“It’s cool. I haven’t really thought about it either. I just worry that people will get confused, or be unable to pronounce it. My last name is hard enough.”

“Chalamet?” Armie let the name curl around his tongue. “It’s not so hard. I like it. I like Timothée, too. It’s unique. Hard to forget.”

“Maybe I’ll call you Timothée for a while, and see if you still feel that way.”

They reached the rear of the main room, and Armie led the way into the back hallway, past the restrooms, and into the kitchen.

“Should I call you Armie, then? To balance it out?” he asked, throwing Tim a smirk over his shoulder.

“Seems reasonable.” Tim smirked back.

Armie unlocked the office door. He tried to take the duffle from Tim, which resulted in an awkward shuffle when Tim didn’t let go.

“I got it,” Tim said. “It’s heavy, you don’t have to—“

“Do I look like a weakling?” Armie laughed. But he understood, and motioned for Tim to drop his things in the corner. The duffle hit the floor with a thud — it seemed it _was_ rather heavy — and, after removing a couple of items from the messenger bag, Tim deposited it on top.

Armie locker the door behind them. “I promised you food. You hungry?”

Tim’s hand went to his nearly concave stomach, flattening against it on instinct. Armie heard the distinct growl, as if Tim’s stomach was responding to the question. Tim flushed again, and Armie found himself wondering if the kid’s ears also turned red when he blushed like that.

“I am, yeah,” said Tim.

“What can we make you? I can grab you a menu, but we’ve got all the standard pub food selections. Nachos, fries, variously adorned burgers, chicken strips, salads, chili.” He paused. “Is Chalamet French French or Canadian French?”

Tim’s hand moved from his stomach to his heart. “Good god,” he said. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that.”

Armie laughed. “Got something against the Québécois? I’m only asking because we recently started serving a poutine.”

“Oh, well. That’s a different story,” said Tim. “Poutine kicks ass.”

“Sometimes there’s salmon, but I think we’re out. Any of that sound appealing?”

Tim considered. “What do you put on your nachos?”

“You’ve got your choice of veggies or pulled pork.”

“I’ll take the pork.”

Armie nodded. “You got it.”

He spoke to Andrew, the chef, telling him to extra-load the nachos. Tim was so thin, and Armie had a strange urge to make sure he had enough to eat.

They made their way back out of the kitchen and into the main room once more.

The crowds had already grown to three-quarters capacity. Armie was pleased. Business had been up lately, and he had been in discussions with the owner of the failing juice bar next door to buy out his space and expand. He wasn’t sure he was ready — if Nick would agree to finally be a full partner, he thought he’d jump on it — but it was something he was seriously considering.

He led Tim back to the bar and found him an empty stool at one end. Tim carefully laid his guitar against the wall and nimbly hopped onto the stool.

“Can I get you a drink?” Armie asked.

“A beer is fine,” said Tim. He peered at the taps. “The Harpoon?”

Armie returned a few moments later with the drink. He left Tim to his own devices for a bit, tending to other customers, checking in with his staff, taking a call from someone who was letting him know _Cor Cordium_ was being written up on some pub blog.

All the while, however, he was aware of Tim sitting at the end of the bar. He saw a waitress bring Tim a heaping plate of nachos, saw Tim digging in with gusto. He smiled with satisfaction at the mountain of pork on top. Andrew had come through.

When he finally had a chance to return to Tim, the plate was practically licked clean.

“Liked it okay?” Armie teased, gesturing to the empty plate.

Tim ducked his head. “They were great,” he said. “And I guess I was really hungry.”

“Want something else? More food, another beer?”

Tim tilted his head to the side, a gesture that had Armie wanting to reach out and cradle the kid’s cheek in his palm. What the hell was that about?

“Better not,” said Tim. “I should set up.”

“Come with me. And if you do want something else, just tell one of the waitstaff.” Armie led Tim to the stage platform, showed him the sound setup. “Can you handle this, or do you need help?”

“I’ve got it,” said Tim. “When it’s time, do you want me to just...start? Or…”

“I’ll introduce you,” said Armie. “At seven. You okay doing three sets?”

“Yeah,” said Tim.

“I should have asked before, but you...have enough material? Covers are okay too, and you can repeat, but preferably not too much.”

Tim gave Armie a look. “I have enough material.”

Armie backed off. The kid didn’t have a lot of professional experience, but he certainly seemed confidant and at ease with the idea of performing. Armie decided to trust his earlier gut instinct. Everything would work out.

He left Tim to set up the equipment and returned to the bar. Like before, he seemed to be able to keep one eye on what Tim was up to. He noted that Tim efficiently set up the speakers and ran the lines. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Tim consulted a many-times folded piece of paper from his pocket, mouthing words that Armie couldn’t quite make out. He saw Tim plug in a set of ear buds and, with his eyes closed, pluck at the strings of his guitar, adjusting the pegs as he made sure he was in tune.

Then, a few minutes before seven, he looked up from mixing a martini — dirty, extra olives — and realized Tim wasn’t on the stage any longer.

Armie scanned the room, for once thankful that his height put him a head above most of the crowd. He searched for a mop of dark curls, a lanky frame, a defined jaw, but came up short.

Where could he have gone? Armie had looked away for one minute. The equipment was still on the stage, including the guitar, leaning up against the wall. Tim couldn’t have — wouldn’t have — gone far without it, Armie was certain.

He slid out from behind the bar. Outside for a breath of fresh air, or back to the restrooms? Maybe to the office, thinking someone back there had a key and he could grab something he forgot?

After a moment’s hesitation, Armie headed for the front door. He threaded his way through the crowd, checking in with his patrons as he went. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.

He nodded to his bouncer, George, and pulled open the door. The cool October air swirled around him as he stepped outside. The temperature must have dropped again. He’d need to start wearing a jacket soon.

He glanced left. A smattering of people were walking down the street. Music was filtering out of other establishments. No Tim.

He glanced right. There were more restaurants than bars in that direction, and the sidewalk was lit up in patches outside their windows.

Armie squinted. Just past a square of light, in one of the shadows, Armie could just make out a figure leaning up against the brick wall. The telltale orange glow of a cigarette rose, flared, and fell, and tendrils of smoke wafted out of the shadows and into the light.

He took a step towards the figure. “Tim?”

There was a pause, and then: “Yeah.”

Armie made his way over. Tim was slouched against the wall, shoulders hunched in against the cold.

“Everything okay?” asked Armie.

“Yeah. Fine.” Tim brought the cigarette to his lips, took a short drag, and blew it out slowly. “I just...I needed a minute.”

“Nervous?”

Tim sighed. “And now you’re thinking, ‘I shouldn’t have hired this guy.’”

Now that Armie was closer, he could make out Tim’s features. He had tucked his chin down and was biting his bottom lip, his upper teeth scraping across it over and over again. Armie wanted to reach out and soothe it with his thumb.

_What?_ No, he didn’t. He tried to refocus on what Tim had said. Something about Armie wishing he hadn’t hired Tim? He needed to stop that line of thinking immediately. If the kid was nervous, well...he’d just have to make him less nervous.

“Actually, I wasn’t thinking that at all. Nerves seem normal to me. This is...your first time playing a gig like this, right? You sort of indicated that on the phone.”

Tim nodded. “Like I said, I’ve done a bunch of open mics, and I play on the street and stuff. But no one’s hired me yet to play for real.” He shot a sideways look at Armie. “You sure you’re not thinking you wish you hadn’t hired me? Because it would be understandable.”

“I’m sure,” said Armie. He wasn’t, not really. He hadn’t had a chance to hear the kid play yet, which was probably a mistake. Was he putting too much trust in Luca? The man was more than a regular customer, he was a professor at Berklee College of Music. Surely, his opinion could be relied on in a situation like this. “Luca says you’re good, and that’s enough of an endorsement for me.”

Tim smiled slightly. “Luca’s always trying to look out for me.”

They stood for a moment. Tim took another drag from the cigarette.

“So…” said Armie, “it’s nearly seven. You going to be able to go on?”

“Definitely,” said Tim. “I always get a little nervous, need to go off by myself for a minute. Then I’m fine.  Is it time now, or…”

Armie glanced at his watch. “You’ve got eight minutes,” he said.

Tim nodded. “Then give me six, and I promise I’ll make giving me a chance worth it.”

“You got it,” said Armie. He hesitated. He should leave the kid alone, like he said he wanted, right? Why did he feel like he wanted to stay right where he was? He cleared his throat. “You want me to leave?”

“No,” said Tim. His eyes found Armie’s, lingered a moment before darting away. “Stay. I mean, unless...you probably have to get back inside. I don’t want to keep you from your job.”

“I can stay.”

Armie closed the distance between them and leaned up against the wall next to Tim. The brick was hard and cool against his back, the thin shirt he was wearing not much protection against the temperature or the texture.

Tim took another drag, and then, holding his breath, held the cigarette towards Armie, eyebrows raised in question. Armie plucked it from Tim’s hand and brought it to his lips. A moment later, they both exhaled as one.

Armie handed the cigarette back to Tim. “Is it smart to smoke when you’re a singer?” he asked.

Tim shrugged. “It’s not smart to smoke at all, right? I usually only have one right before a performance. It calms me down.”

He shifted slightly then, so that his left arm was touching Armie’s right arm, just slightly at first, and then more firmly. Armie wondered about that movement. Not why Tim had done it, but more...why it seemed so natural. Armie didn’t startle when it happened because it was almost like he had known it was about to happen. And when it did, it was a relief. Like he had been waiting for it.

Tim’s arm was warm against his, and he leaned into it. They stood there a few more minutes, passing the cigarette back and forth, until it had burned its way down to the filter.

Tim sighed, and this time it was a contented sound. “Thanks,” he said. “For checking on me. And staying. I’m good now.”

He pinched the cigarette, causing just the ember to fall to the ground where it met its demise under Tim’s sneaker. Tim pocketed the filter. He glanced up, saw Armie watching him.

“I don’t like to litter,” he said with a shrug.

Armie couldn’t help but grin. “You’re kind of unique, you know that?”

“So they tell me.” He blinked up at Armie, shook his head. “Jesus, you _are_ tall. How tall are you?”

“Six foot five,” said Armie. “You?”

“Five ten. Maybe eleven. I’m not short, but next to you I probably look miniature.”

“Or I look like a giant. I’m pretty sure it’s that one.”

Tim laughed. “Okay, Jolly Green, lead the way back into the lion’s den. I’ve got a show to do.”

They made their way back inside. Armie wound his way through the crowd, not checking to see if Tim was behind him. He knew he would be.

Once he reached the stage, he caught the eye of one of the other bartenders, who took the cue and faded out the canned music. Armie tapped on the mic, then flicked the switch on the side and tapped again, satisfied to hear the echoing sound as the crowd began to quiet.

“Ladies and gentlemen, good evening,” said Armie into the mic. “What a great crowd. We’ve got a special treat for you. For the first time at _Cor Cordium,_ it is my great pleasure to introduce Timothée Chalamet.”

He gestured to Tim, who was standing with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders curved inward. The kid was definitely shy. Armie hoped he could pull this off.

“Timothée is a singer-songwriter, and he’ll be gracing us with his melodies in three sets tonight, so make sure you stick around. And order more, so my waitstaff has something to do.”

There was a murmur of laughter from the crowd, and then an expectant hush.

Armie stepped back from the mic and started clapping. The crowd joined in.

Tim picked up his guitar and ducked his head under the strap, adjusting it slightly. He stepped forward.

“Thanks, Armie,” he said, his voice now amplified through the speakers. “Is everyone having a good time tonight?”

Armie stepped off the stage, but hovered to the side for a moment longer. The crowd responded to Tim’s question with affirmative hoots.

“That’s good, that’s good,” said Tim. “I’m glad to hear it. This is a great place, right?”

More affirmative calls. Armie smiled. All evidence of Tim’s nerves was gone.

“So I’m just going to start. I hope you enjoy what I’ve got to say.”

Armie’s smile widened at Tim’s choice of phrase. _Unique. Definitely unique_ , he thought.

With a few tentative chords, Tim launched into his first song. It was a moderate tempo number with syncopated lyrics. Cheery through the verses and a bit more introspective in the chorus. Tim strummed the guitar with confidence.

And his voice...

Armie leaned against the wall, unable to move farther away. Tim’s voice was clear and rich, filling the space around him so fully that Armie could almost swear he could _see_ the sound.

As he sang, Tim’s eyes slipped closed, so Armie looked his fill. What struck him most about Tim in this moment was how expressive his face was, even with his eyes closed. Every emotion was clear and sharp, in the twist of his lips, the tilt of his head, shape of his brows. Armie couldn’t tear his gaze away.

The song ended, and there was a smattering of applause that quieted down immediately as Tim waited only a beat before shifting to a new song. This one was slower, mournful, a stark but pleasing contrast to the way the previous had ended. And there was something in the lyrics that connected, Armie thought, as if the first song posed a question and the second was the response.

Tim’s eyes were open, now. In the spot that shone onto the stage, they were shimmering pools of green that traveled across the audience, adding yet another layer of expression as he caught the eye of every person in the room.

His eyes finally locked with Armie’s, and Armie felt like all the air had been squeezed out of his chest. The room faded away, all senses vanished except the sound of Tim’s voice and those piercing eyes.

It was stunning.

Armie realized he was staring with his mouth open when Gwen, one of the waitresses, sidled up to him. Tim’s gaze drifted away, and Armie found reality again. He closed his mouth and bent down so she could speak in his ear.

“He’s incredible,” she said. “Where on earth did you find him?”

In response to Gwen’s question, Armie just shrugged. He had been wondering much the same thing.

“And good god...is he single, do you know?”

Armie shot her a look, and she rolled her eyes before moving away. He scanned the crowd. The entire room was quiet, totally focused on Tim. That was rare. _Cor Cordium_ was known for its live music, but it was also a bar, not a theater. Most of the time, patrons listened with various degrees of attention, being respectful but often carrying on low conversations or engaged in their own pursuits. For everyone to be watching, putting everything on hold...it was a testament to how charismatic Tim was.

He felt better knowing he wasn’t the only one affected. There was something about this kid, plain and simple. Taking comfort in that, he resumed his staring.

An hour later, Tim wrapped up with a “Thanks, you guys. You’ve been great. I hope that was okay,” and a duck of his head in that way Armie was beginning to think of as quintessential Tim. The place erupted, and Armie stepped back onto the stage.

Tim glanced at him, hope and anxiety warring on his face. Armie grinned and clapped a hand on Tim’s shoulder, leaving his hand in place and squeezing slightly.

He leaned into the mic. “Timothée Chalamet, everyone,” he said, and the applause got louder. “He’ll be back at nine and eleven, so stick around. Call your friends. Let me mix you a drink to pass the time.”

Several people hooted and whistled.

Armie flicked off the mic and turned back to Tim, who was looking flushed but pleased. “Come on,” he said, with a tilt of his head. “Let me buy you a drink.”

He led the way to the end of the bar. There weren’t any stools open, so Tim leaned an elbow against the serving station while Armie pulled two Harpoons. He brought them back to Tim, handed him one, and held up his own glass.

“To a successful first paid performance,” he said.

Tim tapped his mug against Armie’s, but hesitated before he drank. “It was really okay?” he asked.

“Tim, that was…” Armie shook his head. “You’re incredible.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t look away. I never watch shows like that, but I just stood there, completely at your mercy, the entire time. That’s saying something.”

Tim blushed again. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t—it’s nice to hear that you liked it.” He finally brought the beer to his mouth, drinking greedily.

“Were those all your songs?” asked Armie.

“All mine,” said Tim.

“Wow. What do you plan to do for the other sets?”

“Well...I have more,” he said. “I planned out three different sets, figuring the early crowd would be willing to listen to more ballads and the later ones might need something more up-tempo.”

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the paper Armie had seen him looking at earlier. “The third set has a bunch of covers, with my stuff here and there. Late night Thursday drinkers like to hear stuff they know. I mean, if that’s okay.”

Armie was impressed, and decided to say so. “For someone who has never had a paid gig before, you seem to know what you’re doing. That’s...impressive.”

Tim shrugged. “I pay attention.”

“You put all this together after we spoke today?”

“Mostly. I work on sets all the time, so it was just a matter of pulling together stuff I’ve already spent time thinking about.” Tim looked both pleased and a little embarrassed at the implied compliment.

Armie shook his head. “Luca said you’d fit in here. He was right. You interested in a regular gig?”

Tim’s eyes widened. “Seriously? I’ve only played one set. You sure you don’t want to wait to make sure I don’t turn into a drunk asshole partway through the night?”

Armie smiled. “Are you going to turn into a drunk asshole?”

“No, but—“

“I’m sure,” said Armie. “I’m sure that I want you to keep playing here.”

It was business, he told himself. The crowd loved Tim, and they’d come back to hear him again. Good business was driving his decision.

It had nothing at all to do with the fact that Armie knew he wanted to keep Tim around a while, learn more about him. Hear more, see more. Know more.

Nope. Just good business.

“Then…” Tim licked his lips. “Absolutely I’m interested.”

The relief Armie felt, and the rush of gratitude that a sick performer had led to bringing Tim into his bar, was overwhelming. He took a long drink to steady himself.

“I’ll have to talk to Nick, who schedules the acts, find a spot for you. But we’ll talk. Put you up on the board.” He gestured to the wall, where the schedule of performances for the month was laid out.

Tim grinned. “This might sound mean, but I’m really glad your other guy got sick.”

Armie tried not to wonder at the fact that he had just been thinking the same thing.

“Me too, Tim. Me fucking too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a playlist to set a tone (not all of these are Tim-style songs, but...you'll get the idea...deeper cuts next time):  
> 1\. The Boy With the Arab Strap - Belle and Sebastian  
> 2\. Loneliest Girl in the World - Cary Brothers  
> 3\. All My Days - Alexi Murdoch  
> 4\. Fireflies - Amy Cook  
> 5\. Long Way - Antje Duvekot  
> 6\. The Time of Times - Badly Drawn Boy  
> 7\. Thinking of You - Christian Kane  
> 8\. Poison & Wine - The Civil Wars  
> 9\. Babylon - David Gray  
> 10\. Give Me Love - Ed Sheeran  
> 11\. Collide - Howie Day  
> 12\. Naked As We Came - Iron & Wine  
> 13\. Why Georgia - John Mayer  
> 14\. I'd Rather Be With You - Joshua Radin  
> 15\. Bring It On Home - Steve Calrson  
> 16\. Work Song - Luke Wade


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie attends an event with Liz and it ends...differently than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, 100% pure fiction, none of this is real. (One reality note: To my knowledge, the real Fairmont Copley has no balcony overlooking the Plaza, but...in this alternate universe, I made one.)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is so enthusiastic about this little pub story.
> 
> I wasn't supposed to post again this weekend. The idea was to stay 10 or so chapters ahead, since I tend to get behind. But...here we are. I have no willpower. Lesson? Begging works, and I am weak.
> 
> Soundtrack for this chapter: look up Vitamin String Quartet, pick your favorite artist being covered, and listen.

**Chapter 3**

Sunday’s charity dinner was as much of a drag as Armie had anticipated. As he downed his fourth glass of champagne, he congratulated himself on the foresight of inviting Nick and Stacy. If it weren’t for them, he would have had no one to help him mock the pretensions that were swirling around them.

Armie signaled for the waiter to bring another glass of champagne, and sat back in his chair. Nick had gone to use the restroom and Stacy was in conversation with the woman seated on her other side, who was one of the librarians being honored that evening.

He glanced to his right. Liz was on her phone, tapping away. He wondered if she was putting something on Instagram, or if she was emailing or texting something that had to do with her work. Probably work, he decided, noting the tiny lines of concentration that had appeared between her brows and the slightly pursed lips.

She was looking particularly lovely that evening, he thought. The silver dress she was wearing clung in some places and skimmed others, providing the exact right amount of definition and suggestion. Her hair was, as always, pulled back in a tight, high, ponytail. It was her signature look, but she had once told him she adopted it because it kept her hair out of her face more than anything else. He liked that practical side of her personality.

He reached a hand out and ran a finger from her neck down her spine, which was exposed in the backless dress. She stopped typing and glanced at him.

“Yes?”

“Nothing,” he said. He ran the finger back up her spine, and she frowned a little and shifted away. He shifted with her.

“Stop,” she hissed. “We’re in the middle of a ballroom, for god’s sake.”

He withdrew his hand and sighed. Once, she would have smiled and leaned into his touch. Now...they were in a ballroom, _for god’s sake_.

He’d known Liz since just after high school, when he moved from California to Boston in defiance of his parents’ unwelcome demands. He had had a trust fund awaiting him, courtesy of his grandfather, but until it became available, he had a few years in which he had to scrape by as best he could manage. He worked around the clock, at multiple bars and restaurants, lived in shitty, crowded apartments with virtual strangers, and told himself that he just had to get by and hang tight until his twenty-first birthday.

Liz was a cocktail waitress at one of the bars, working part time while attending Boston University. He was a mere busboy when they met, and she rebuffed all of his attempts to ask her out. She told him he was too young — she was three years his senior — and that she didn’t have time to date. So he settled for a friendship.

Over time, he dated other people, and so did she. Eventually, he got his bartenders license, had some financial breathing room. Not much, but a bit. By this time, Armie considered Liz one of his closest friends. They laughed together, talked about their dreams, cheered each other up on bad days. He had fun with her.

As far as he was concerned, they had been practically dating for six months before they slept together for the first time. She continued to insist that it wasn’t serious; that she didn’t have room in her life for a boyfriend; that they were friends with benefits.

When his trust fund became available, he started to talk seriously about opening a bar. She laughed and patted his hand and didn’t take him seriously. That hurt a bit, how little faith she seemed to have in him and the visions he had for his life. But she always had a warm smile and let him talk and cuddle her close, so he decided he would just have to show her he had every intention of succeeding.

Then he signed the lease for the space that would become _Cor Cordium_. The day he brought her to see the space, she thought he was pulling some prank, asking what he was trying to accomplish. He showed her the paperwork, took her on a tour, apologized for the run-down state, explained what he planned to change and create. Asked her to come work for him, help him get it off the ground.

_“Armie, how in the hell did you convince someone to loan you the money for this without collateral? Did you do something stupid? Go to a loan shark? You should have talked to me first.” She folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot, looking concerned._

_“Relax,” he said. “I didn’t borrow the money. I used what I had.”_

_She peered at him. “You’re a bartender without a college degree. What money did you have?”_

_He shrugged. “Family money.”_

_This made her pause. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “What family money? I thought you didn’t have family. You told me you were all alone.”_

_“I have family,” he said with a sigh. “I just don’t talk to them. I haven’t seen or heard from them in four years.”_

_She looked confused and suspicious. He wiped off a dusty chair with his sleeve and gestured for her to sit. She did so, perching on the edge of the chair._

_“When I graduated high school, I left home,” he said. “My father wanted me to go into business with him, and I had no interest in doing that. My mother...we had different issues. In the end, they made demands, I refused.”_

_“How did you get the money?” she asked._

_He had been slightly surprised that she had glossed over what he had said about his parents, but he explained. “My grandfather had set up a trust fund for me. I got access to the first tier of it about seven months ago. I was able to make a withdrawal to pay for the lease here, and enough to do the renovations and keep afloat for a year or so.”_

_Armie would have laughed at the expression on Liz’s face if he hadn’t been so worried she would be mad at him for concealing his past. It just wasn’t something he had wanted to discuss._

_“Hang on,” she said. “Are you one of THOSE Hammers?”_

_He nodded. “Unfortunately.”_

_She rolled her eyes. “Damn you, Armie. You’ve been holding out on me. If you had told me I could have helped you make plans.”_

_“I did tell you. I told you about my plans. You just…”_

_“I thought they were just dreams. I didn’t know you actually had the means to do it.” She grinned, then stood and crossed to him, winding her arms around his neck. “I’m in."_

_“For what?” he asked. “You’ll help me decide on the renovations? The menu? The marketing?”_

_“For everything,” she said. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his. “I am so in, Boyfriend.”_

_His mouth dropped open. “Seriously? You’re finally saying yes?”_

_She nuzzled her nose against his. “I’ve been in denial,” she said. “We’ve been dating for a couple of years now. I was just too stubborn to admit it.”_

_He kissed her, smiling against her mouth. “About time.”_

That was four years ago, and they had been a couple ever since. He had begun to float the idea of them moving in together. They had discussed it. He wanted her to move in to his North Cambridge condo. It was nice, close to the bar, a short walk to the subway downtown, and had plenty of space for them both.

Liz wanted him to buy a new place, a bigger place, downtown. She was a downtown person, she had explained. She wanted to be close to her high-end clients and the shops on Newbury Street.

They hadn’t gotten any further than that. For some reason, despite having pursued her for four years, and despite having spent the past four years doing everything in his power to make her happy...he was losing steam. He didn’t want to fight about the moving in thing, but he wasn’t ready to cave on this one. He needed to be close to _Cor Cordium_. He liked Cambridge and Somerville.

So he had tabled the issue. For now.

He had no interest in living in the sort of neighborhood she was looking at for them. It would immerse him in the exact type of atmosphere that he had been struggling to avoid since leaving home. The same type of atmosphere he was suffering through that evening at the charity dinner.

The waiter returned with his champagne. Liz raised an eyebrow.

“Think you might want to slow down?” she asked. “What is that, your eighth glass?”

“My third,” he lied. “I’m fine.”

“Please don’t embarrass us tonight.”

He found himself bristling. “Embarrass you how? What do you think I’m going to do?”

She shrugged. “You get...friendly when you’re drunk. It makes people uncomfortable.”

“Friendly? I sort of thought that was a good thing. Isn’t that why we’re here at all? So you can make friends with the right people?” Honestly, sometimes he couldn’t figure out what she wanted from him.

She sighed. “Just don’t drink too much. I want you to dance with me later.”

“Then I should drink more, not less.” He tossed back the champagne and flagged the waiter over again. He ignored her dagger eyes as he ordered a scotch, neat. “And keep them coming,” he said, passing the waiter a folded bill.

“Yes, sir,” said the waiter with a grin.

“You’re being difficult again,” said Liz. “What is your problem tonight?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “No problem. Go back to your texting.”

“Email, actually,” she said. “I have the kind of job that doesn’t just stop when the business day is over.”

“And I do?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

She had been bugging him recently about the bar, hinting that it was time he stop playing around and get a “real job.” She wouldn’t say, but he knew what she meant: the kind of job his parents had tried to force him into. The kind of job all these tuxedo-clad men around him had.

This was an argument that seemed to keep coming up, with respect to where they might live together, what they did with their time, the future of _Cor Cordium_...it came down to the fact that she wanted the bells and whistles of an “important” and “stylish” life, and he did not.

He was tired of the argument. He missed the old Liz, the one content in yoga pants and a tank top, cuddled up on a ratty sofa and watching a movie on network television, complete with commercials. Lately, she seemed very far in the distant past.

He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to respond. “You know what? I don’t feel like doing this right now. I came to this thing for you. Just be satisfied with that.”

Armie shoved his chair back and stood, needing some air. Before he walked away, he leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Don’t ignore Stacy,” he said. “Do me a favor and be nice to her.”

He headed off the incoming waiter with the scotch and then spotted Nick returning from the bathroom. He caught up with his friend halfway across the room.

“What’s wrong?” asked Nick, after taking one look at his face.

“Nothing. The usual,” he replied. “Walk out onto the balcony with me.”

Nick glanced back at the table where Liz was now engaged in conversation with Stacy and the librarian. “Lead the way,” he said.

When the night air hit his face, Armie realized how flushed he must have been. The champagne? Or the argument? Both, most likely.

The balcony of the Fairmont Copley Plaza looked out over the plaza itself, a broad expanse of green that stretched between the Boston Public Library on one side and Trinity Church on the other. From where they were standing, Armie could see the twinkling of streetlights, stoplights, and headlights, the roar of Sunday night traffic muted at their height. Despite the late hour — it was close to nine — there were still people traversing the streets below, moving in and out of the subway and milling around in the park. He almost wished he was down there. It would be better than up here.

No, what he wished was that he was at _Cor Cordium._

He set his scotch on the stone ledge, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and tapped one into his palm. He offered the pack to Nick, who shook his head.

“Stacy wants me to cut back before the wedding,” he explained.

Armie raised an eyebrow. “You sure right before your wedding is a good time to add the stress of quitting smoking?”

“Not quitting,” said Nick. “Cutting back. And it’s going pretty well, actually.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Armie. He flicked his lighter, watching it flare sharply in the night. The first drag of the cigarette immediately settled his nerves, and he felt himself letting go of the stupid argument.

Someone opened a door, and then closed it again. The strains of the string quartet floated out to meet them for a moment.

“I’m thinking about trying to get this quartet for the wedding,” Nick said. “What do you think?”

“I thought you already hired a band,” said Armie.

Nick shrugged. “Fell through. What do you think of these guys?”

Armie smiled. “I like them. I’m pretty sure they’re playing Imagine Dragons at the moment.”

“Yeah, I heard Regina Spektor, Gaga, Coldplay, and Modest Mouse earlier,” said Nick, ticking them off on his fingers.

“Me too. Liz didn’t notice.”

Nick chuckled. “I’m sure most of the people in there have no idea.” He paused. ”So, you gonna tell me what happened back there?”

Armie sighed. “Same shit, different day. She asked me not to embarrass her by getting drunk and being friendly, and then picked on the pub.”

Nick made a face. “What’s her problem with the pub?”

“Not high-end enough, I think. She’d rather I get a job in one of the financial firms or something. Wear a suit and tie to work and talk about dividends over martinis with other stiffs. I’d help her get more clients that way.”

That was the crux of it, Armie knew. Liz’s star was rising, and she needed his support. He couldn’t really begrudge her her ambition or her desire for her partner to help boost her up. He had always loved the way she set her sights on a goal and pursued it relentlessly.

“Armie, don’t take this the wrong way, but…” Nick trailer off and looked away.

“Say what you’re going to say,” said Armie.

“You’re twenty-six,” said Nick.

“So are you.”

“Right. And, at twenty-six, you own an up-and-coming pub in an up-and-coming neighborhood in a great city. Your business is growing. Didn’t you mention you were thinking of expanding into the space next door?”

“I am. I would be thinking even more seriously if someone would agree to be my partner.”

Nick snorted. “I told you, I’m not partner material. But my point is...you’re twenty-six. Dude, you are way young to be in the position you’re in. It’s impressive.”

Armie shrugged. “I have the trust fund money,” he said. “If I didn’t...it would have taken me a lot longer.”

“True, but not my point. Although that adds to it. There’s enough in that trust fund that you could comfortably live off of it for life. But instead you’re working your ass off morning to night, risking it, to make something new.”

“The money is mine, but I didn’t create it,” Armie said. He picked up his scotch, took a sip. “ _Cor Cordium_ is both mine and something I made.”

“Exactly. What you’re doing is not only respectable, it’s damned ambitious and something to be proud of. The fact that Liz doesn’t see it that way...it concerns me.”

Armie frowned. “Nick—“

“Look, I’m getting married in a couple of months. So I figure that makes me an expert.”

It was Armie’s turn to snort.

“And what I want to say is...I am sure I want to marry Stacy. That woman is everything I never knew I always wanted, as they say. Even the stuff that drives me crazy — like the fact that she can’t pass by a dog without stopping to make baby talk at it — makes me love her more.”

“That’s sweet,” said Armie, taking a drag from the cigarette. “I’m happy for you guys.”

“So my question for you is this: are _you_ sure you want to marry Liz?”

“Woah.” Armie held up his hands, cigarette in one and scotch in the other. “Who ever said anything about marriage?”

“You’ve been with her for eight years, man. It must be coming up in conversation.”

“Four. Technically,” said Armie.

He wondered when he had started thinking of their relationship as a four-year relationship instead of a six-year one, or the eight years they’d know each other.

He also decided not to mention to Nick that he had asked Liz to move in, and the stalled discussions there. It would just add to his friend’s worries.

“Okay, four. But you can’t tell me that’s not where you’re headed. If it’s not...what’s the expression? Get off the pot?”

Yeah, that was the expression. But Armie wasn’t even thinking about that. He was thinking about how to get things right between them again, like they used to be. That’s what he wanted.

“We’re not talking marriage yet,” he said. “We both still have things we’re pursuing individually. But if we were...I love Liz. You know that. I’ve been totally gone on her since the day we met. Even when she pisses me off.”

It was true. Armie even appreciated that they weren’t seeing each other through rose-colored glasses anymore. If they ever really had. He knew the real Liz, and she knew the real him.

That was actually a pretty strong check in the pros column of their relationship, that they weren’t always happy with each other and yet wanted to stay together.

“Are you sure ‘gone on her’ is the right way to put it?” asked Nick, eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean?”

“I was there, dude. Not at the very beginning, not in person, but I remember the conversations we had. I think the words ‘hot’ and ‘fuckable’ were the first things you told me about her.”

Armie grimaced. “Come on, man. Give me a break. I was eighteen.”

“Yeah, and? You were primarily focused on getting in her pants. The stuff about you actually liking her came much, much later. Don’t rewrite history.”

Armie considered what Nick was saying. Maybe he _was_ painting over their beginnings with a nostalgic brush. Maybe he had — initially — seen Liz as a conquest. She was older, gorgeous, a challenge...but eventually they got to know each other, and that was what was important. The sex was just the way in. And wasn’t that the case with most people?

He shook off the too-deep questions and smiled reassuringly at his friend.

“Listen. I promise if I’m gonna propose, I’ll run it by you first and you can try to talk me out of it,” he said, grinning at his friend.

“That’s all I ask,” said Nick. “Seriously, I like Liz. Most of the time.”

“I know.”

“But sometimes her expectations and her obsession with being _someone_ are a little much.”

“I know.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Okay, give me that damned thing.”  He reached out and snatched the cigarette from Armie’s fingers. He took a drag and handed it back. “Thank god. It was killing me to stand here with you and not get a fix.”

“You want your own?” asked Armie, tapping his pocket.

“Nah. I’ll just share yours.”

As they passed the cigarette back and forth in silence, Armie was brought back to three nights earlier when he had done the same thing with Tim. The casual intimacy of the act struck him in that moment: he was wrapping his lips around something that was still a little damp from where Nick’s lips has been. This was a normal thing for him to do with Nick, and with Liz, before she quit a year ago. There wasn’t another human who he would be comfortable sharing with in this way, and yet...with Tim, he hadn't thought about it.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly. “Did you call that kid yet?”

“Who?” asked Nick.

“Tim Chalamet. The one who filled in for Eric on Thursday.”

“Not yet,” said Nick. “He was that good?”

“He was that good. I want to lock him down before anyone else figures it out. He had the entire pub in the palm of his hand, for all three sets. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” said Nick. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“Good.”

After a few more minutes, Armie downed the last of his scotch and pinched the ember off the cigarette.

“What was that?” asked Nick.

Armie looked down at the cigarette filter in his hand. “Oh. Just...I saw someone do this to avoid littering. Thought it was a good idea.”

Nick pointed to the cigarette receptacle off to the side. “Respect and all, but what do you think that’s for?”

Armie smiled. “Shut up. Habit, I guess.” He tossed the butt into the receptacle. “Let’s go back in. I have some schmoozing to do.”

“Going to make peace?” Nick asked.

“Might as well.”

For the next hour, Armie put on his best “charming man of means and power” persona. He glad handed politicians and lawyers and surgeons. He told tame jokes. He leaned in with interest and made appropriately engaged expressions in response to boring stories.

He brought Liz champagne and placed a hand on the small of her back and complimented her to others.

By the time they were getting ready to go, she was beaming. She leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“Thank you,” she said. “For doing this for me. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I like seeing you happy.”

“I’m very happy,” she replied. “And I’m sorry I was a bitch before.”

“I’m sorry I was in a bad mood.”

“Is that all that was? You seemed...pricklier than usual.”

“Just a bad mood,” he said. “Come on. I have one last contribution to make to the evening, and then I’m taking you home.”

He turned and surprised her by inviting a half dozen new contacts down to the hotel bar for a nightcap.

Forty-five minutes later, they were finally exiting the hotel. The concierge had called them all cars, and they had decided to step out to enjoy the night air while they waited.

Armie stepped to the side and lit another cigarette, ignoring the disapproving look Liz shot his way. He was just inhaling his first hit of nicotine when he heard it.

“Wait,” he said.

His companions continued talking a little too loudly for the late hour, with that boisterousness brought on by one too many drinks.

“Shhh,” he insisted. “Everyone, be quiet a second.”

One by one, they quieted each other and looked to him expectantly.

“Hear that?”

Floating toward them from somewhere across the plaza were the sounds of a guitar and a clear, rich voice.

_Tim._

“Come on,” said Armie. He turned to the doorman. “When the cars get here, tell them to wait. We’ll be right back.”

He grabbed Liz’s hand, and tugged her towards the street.

“Armie, what are you doing?” she hissed.

“Trust me,” he said. Then he said it louder. “Trust me. Come with me, just for a minute. I promise it will be worth it.”

Since their new companions, three couples of various upstanding professions, were feeling charitable towards him — he had purchased their group three bottles of cristal just now, after all — they laughed and followed.

He hurried the group across the street and through the plaza to the far corner near the subway entrance.

“I knew it,” he said.

It was Tim. He was standing under a streetlight, his guitar case open in front of him, a smattering of change and a handful of bills inside. His hands, clad in fingerless gloves, strummed at the guitar and he sang one of his original songs, one Armie had heard the other night.

Tim’s eyes were closed. Armie scanned his features, grinning, almost unable to believe his luck at running into the kid again.

The group waited and watched. Armie glanced around, satisfied that all six seemed to be mesmerized. Liz was looking at Armie strangely, the only person not focused on Tim.

“This is him,” Armie whispered, in an attempt to explain. “The kid who played at the pub the other night. Isn’t he...just listen.”

Liz gave him one last odd look and then finally turned her attention to the performance.

When Tim finished, his voice echoing in the silence around them, Armie started clapping. The rest of the group joined in.

Tim opened his eyes. He seemed surprised to have an actual audience, and it took him a second before he cleared his throat and said, “Thank you,” looking delightfully embarrassed.

Then he noticed Armie, and his embarrassment gave way to a huge, teeth-baring grin.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” said Armie.

They grinned at each other for a few seconds longer than was probably natural, until one of the women said, “that was beautiful. Play something else?”

“Of course,” said Tim. He scanned the crowd and seemed to take in the situation in that moment, his gaze traveling warily over the tuxedos and gowns. “You folks coming from a party or something?”

“Charity dinner,” said one of the men proudly.

“What charity?” asked Tim.

The man who had spoken was at a loss.

“Adult literacy,” supplied Armie. “To raise money to support the programs offered at schools and libraries in the area.”

Liz glanced at him, seeming shocked that he knew. Whatever. He didn’t have a problem with her getting something out of these events, but he wasn’t going to give his money away without looking into the cause.

Tim smiled at him again. Armie tried to remember what color green Tim’s eyes had been on Thursday, because now, they were the color of rich forest moss with golden undertones, and he was pretty sure this was the first time he had seen eyes that reminded him of something so specific.

“Good cause,” said Tim.

“Play the one you ended the first set with,” said Armie. “The one about the abandoned train tracks.”

“Lost Direction,” said Tim. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Wait a second,” said one of the men, holding up a hand. The podiatrist, Armie was pretty sure. “Armie, do you know him?”

Armie nodded, feeling proud. “This is Timothée Chalamet. He plays at _Cor Cordium_.”

“Play something,” said the first woman again. “Please.”

Tim nodded, then took a breath. Everyone quieted down, and he began to sing.

Because of the size of their group, other people walking by began to gather to see what the fuss was about. Armie noted with satisfaction that, just like at the bar, the crowd seemed enthralled. He watched Tim, feeling a growing sense that he was about to be on the ground floor for the kid’s sure-to-be meteoric rise.

Tim was going to be huge, and Armie had every intention of being a part of his journey, even if only for a short while.

When Tim was done, everyone clapped. Some whistled. Liz leaned over and told Armie it was time to get home.

He nodded to her. She was right, it was getting late. But first….

He pulled a handful of bills out of his wallet and held them high as he turned to the small gathering.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s not forget to thank Mr. Chalamet for his performance.” He dropped the bills in the guitar case and looked at his group expectantly.

The podiatrist’s wife jabbed him in the side. “Mark, give him something.” The man dug some bills out of his own pocket and tossed them in the case. Others, including those not in their group, followed suit, until the case was filled with cash.

Tim looked stunned, and when his eyes met Armie’s, he mouthed, “thank you.” Armie inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Armie had one more thing to say. He approached Tim and slung and arm over his shoulder, ignoring the way the kid fit there so naturally and didn’t flinch or stiffen, but seemed to relax into him just like he had done the other night.

“If you want more Timothée, he’ll be playing regularly at _Cor Cordium_ pub in Davis Square. Check the website for details soon.”

As the crowd dispersed and their group began to say their goodnights and trickle back towards the hotel and their waiting towncars, Tim turned his face up to Armie, an odd look passing through his eyes.

“What’s the matter?” asked Armie. “Should I not have told them you’re playing for me? I know we haven’t figured out the details. I wish Nick hadn’t left early, he wouldn’t delay calling you if he had heard you tonight.”

“Are you real?” asked Tim. Then he seemed to realize what he had said, and ducked out of Armie’s grasp. Until he did, Armie hadn’t consciously realized how snugly he was holding Tim. “I mean...thanks. And you’re fine. I already said I was in, right?”

“Armie.” Liz was looking annoyed.

“Right. We should go.” He moved away from Tim and back to Liz’s side. “Tim, this is my girlfriend, Liz. Liz, Tim Chalamet.”

“Elizabeth,” said Liz. She smiled, but didn’t offer her hand.

“Girlfriend. Of course. Nice to meet you,” said Tim, his eyes darting between them. He seemed to take his cue from her and likewise didn’t offer a handshake. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Will you?” she asked.

“At the pub,” said Tim.

Armie nearly burst out laughing. Liz avoided the pub these days. He had stopped trying to get her to spend time there. It was not worth the fight.

Armie changed the subject before Liz could reply. “You going to stay out here? It’s supposed to get colder.”

The grin was back. “Are you kidding? After this, there’s no need.” He gestured at the guitar case, where the cash was rustling in the light breeze. “I’m going to pack it in and get myself some dinner.”

He crouched down and scooped up the money, taking a minute to organize it. He peeled a few bills off of the thick stack and held them out to Armie.

“Here,” he said. “I think this is what you put in”

Armie frowned. “Why are you trying to give it back?”

“You seeded the pot,” said Tim. “And you paid me the other night, and will pay me again. Not to mention the tips I got and will get.”

“Yeah, and I’m giving you that for turning my entire night around. I was having a fucking crappy evening until I heard you playing. Keep it.”

Armie realized he probably shouldn’t have said what he said — at least not in exactly that way — when he heard Liz’s small sound of distress beside him. He avoided looking at her. He’d dig his way out later.

Tim hesitated. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Tim smirked. “Then I think dinner will also include a beer.” The smirk turned into a genuine smile. “Thanks.”

Liz was tugging at his arm, but he found himself not wanting to leave. He watched Tim situate his guitar in the case, then sling it over his shoulder along with his messenger bag and that same duffle he had had with him on Thursday.

“Where’s home?” he asked. “We could give you a ride.”

Tim froze, then just shook his head. “It’s just a few stops on the T,” he said.

“You’re carrying a lot of cash,” said Armie, feeling suddenly concerned.

“It’s fine, I promise,” said Tim. He glanced at Liz. “You guys have a good night.”

He gave them one last smile and then turned to descend into the subway station. Liz tugged again, and this time Armie let her pull him back along the plaza to the hotel.

He sighed. “He’s incredible, right?” he said.

“Sure,” said Liz. “It’s a little weird, though.”

“What is?”

“That whole thing was weird. You dragging us a whole city block to listen to a street kid play the guitar? And then act like a carnival barker, begging people to give him money? It was embarrassing.”

“They enjoyed it,” said Armie. “It wasn’t embarrassing.”

He felt his good mood evaporating. Her next words didn’t help.

“Also, what was up with you _hugging_ him? Didn't you just meet this guy? You don’t know where he’s...from. Or anything about him.”

“We spent some time talking the other night. He’s a good kid, trying to make a living doing something he loves. I know enough.”

“Whatever. It was weird. And now I have to do damage control tomorrow, so that when they all wake up and realize it was weird they still want to work with me.”

They had reached the hotel entrance again, and a black car was waiting. Everyone else had left. Without waiting for the doorman, he opened the car door and helped her inside.

Instead of moving around to the other side and getting in beside her, he leaned his head in and gave the driver her address.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“On second thought, I’m beat, and I have the ordering to do tomorrow. I think I’m just going to go home. If that’s okay.”

She looked hurt, and for a moment he nearly changed his mind. But then her features hardened.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for understanding,” he said. “I love you,”

She didn’t answer, which he supposed he deserved. He shut the door and stepped back, watching the car pull away and disappear around a corner.

“Well,” he said, turning to the doorman. “Looks like I need another car.”

“Of course, sir,” he said with a knowing smile. He began to speak into his walkie, and then said, “it’ll just be a few minutes.”

Armie wandered to the side and pulled out his cigarettes. As he blew smoke into the night, he closed his eyes, hearing Tim’s last song replaying over and over. He tried to remember the lyrics...something about an overgrown track and a memory to bring you back home.

It made him think of what Nick had said about Liz earlier.

He definitely felt like somewhere along the way, he and Liz had lost their direction. But was the memory of what they had enough to keep them moving forward?

Armie wasn’t sure it was, and the thought crushed him as surely as he crushed out his cigarette before taking his own ride home. He had some thinking to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim's song is probably closest in tone to Antje Duvekot's "Long Way" (which was also on the playlist for chapter 2).
> 
> I have tried and I can't figure out how to use Spotify. It has truly mystified me for years.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim begins his regular gig at Cor Cordium; Armie's fixation grows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a terrible, terrible person with no willpower to speak of whatsoever.
> 
> It's because you're all so lovely and I want to make you happy. That's not so wrong, is it?
> 
> This really is the last update for the weekend. Otherwise we'll all be sorry when I run out and you end up waiting forever. I'm still far enough ahead that I feel okay, and since November is National Novel Writing Month that will be my excuse when I abandon all of my life responsibilities to write.
> 
> All fiction, all made up, nothing true here.
> 
> Enjoy.

**Chapter 4**

It was a couple of weeks before Nick managed to work out the schedule to give Tim a regular spot without bumping any of their other standard acts. In the end, Armie told Nick to add a two-set Sunday afternoon show. He would have to eat the cost out of his own paycheck to cover it, but he was sure that, before long, Tim would draw in enough business to more than make up for it.

“Do me a favor though,” Armie had said, after Nick had settled the schedule with Tim. “Don’t tell him I’m paying him out of my pocket.”

Nick had given him a look. “Like that was even going to come up,” he said.

“Just making sure. I think he’s sensitive about money. I don’t want him to feel like I’m...treating him differently than we treat other acts.”

Nick laughed. “You _are_ treating him differently.”

“How?”

“Name another act you’d be willing to pay out of your paycheck,” Nick pointed out. “Or who we’ve hired without me auditioning or even meeting them. Or who we’ve created a whole new show slot for—“

“Okay, shut the fuck up,” said Armie. “You’ve made your point. But _he_ doesn’t need to know that. I don’t want to scare him off.”

“It’s a job, man. In his line of work, you don’t turn that down because of some small principle. I guarantee you he can’t afford to be that picky.” Nick looked at him carefully. “What is with you lately, anyhow? Is there something you’re not telling me about this kid?”

Armie had brushed Nick off. But it had been bothering him, too. There _was_ something about Tim, and Armie couldn’t figure out what or why, after meeting him twice, he couldn’t get the kid out of his head.

On the first Sunday Tim was scheduled to perform, Armie felt like he was on edge all day. He had rearranged his schedule to be there for Sunday afternoon and evening — usually his one day off, and Liz had _not_ been happy — and spent the better part of the lunch hour generally getting in the way of his regular Sunday staff.

Nick had decided to come by as well, claiming that he absolutely had to see what the fuss was all about.

They were seated at a corner table with a couple of beers when the door opened and Tim sauntered in, looking decidedly more relaxed than the first time. He had his messenger bag and guitar, and the ever-present duffle. He ran a hand through his dark curls and scanned the room, eyes lighting on the subdued crowd watching the football games on various televisions throughout the room

Armie stood and waved, and Tim’s face broke into a wide smile. He waved back and threaded his way through the tables, his hips swiveling to avoid chairs and elbows as he passed. Armie had a passing thought that Tim was incredibly graceful, then stuffed that back down where it came from.

Maybe Nick was right. He was acting weird recently, with regard to Tim.

“Hey,” said Tim.

“Hey,” said Armie. He grinned stupidly, remembering having the exact same exchange two weeks earlier after the charity dinner. “You get home okay the other night with all that cash? I wish you had let us give you a ride.”

Tim dropped the duffle against the wall, set his guitar down, and spread his arms wide. “Safe and sound,” he said. “See? You worry too much. What about you? You seemed...like you were enjoying yourself a quite a bit.”

“Is that your way of accusing me of being drunk?” asked Armie, his hand on his heart in mock horror.

“If the shoe fits…” said Tim. “Seriously, though, that was awesome, what you did.”

Armie waved his hand in the air. “Just making sure you get the respect you deserve.”

Nick had been watching the exchange with a growing look of amusement. Finally, he broke into the conversation and extended his hand. “Hi there,” he said. “You must be Timothée. I’m Nick.”

“Nick, the master of music,” said Tim, grasping Nick’s hand firmly. “Thank you for this opportunity as well.”

“Have a seat,” said Armie, kicking out the chair next to himself. “Let’s get you lunch. What would you like?”

“I’ve been dreaming about those nachos,” said Tim.

“Sure thing.” Armie started to stand, but Nick put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

“I got it,” said Nick. “What about a drink? Are you old enough to drink?”

Armie glanced at Tim. He hadn’t thought to ask last time the kid was there, but he probably should have. Tim did look young.

“Yeah,” said Tim. He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, revealing a New York drivers license. Nick squinted at it.

“This says you’re twenty-two. That true?”

Tim smirked. “If that’s what it says.”

Nick glanced at Armie, who shrugged. “Get him a Harpoon.”

“Will do,” said Nick, with a roll of his eyes.

“Are you really twenty-two?” asked Armie. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Tim licked his lips. “Twenty,” he said. “I’ll be twenty-one in December, if that helps.”

“You’ve got an excellent fake there.”

“You spotted it,” Tim pointed out.

“I guessed,” said Armie. “Based on your responses. So...twenty. No college?”

“No. It didn’t...it wasn’t for me.” Tim rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and stared at the scratched wooden surface of the table.

“It wasn’t for me, either,” said Armie.

Tim looked up in surprise. “Really?”

Armie shrugged. “Going to college would have meant giving in to what my family wanted. I needed to make my own decisions, live my own life. So...I couldn’t afford it on my own.” He cleared his throat. He didn’t know why he was telling this to Tim.

“Yeah, that’s...actually pretty close to my story, too,” said Tim. “But...you own this place. How did you manage that?”

“Long story,” said Armie. “So does that mean you aren’t close to your family?”

Tim hesitated and then shook his head. “Not anymore,” he said. “I haven’t spoken with them in a while.”

Armie felt a fierce connection with Tim in that moment. Maybe he had sensed they had some things in common, and that’s why Tim had been occupying his thoughts and so easily seemed to fit.

“Me too,” said Armie.

Tim looked up at him, and smiled. Nick returned at that moment, setting a full mug down in front of the kid. Tim picked up the mug and held it towards Armie.

“Here’s to going our own way,” he said.

“I’ll drink to that,” said Armie. He raised his glass to Tim’s before taking a drink.

“Did I miss something?” asked Nick.

Armie just smiled.

Later, as Tim once again captivated the room with his voice and lyrics, Nick leaned over to speak in Armie’s ear.

“Okay,” he said. “You were right. This kid is phenomenal.”

“Told you,” said Armie, with a smirk.

“And he’s kind of...genuine, isn’t he? He seems like an earnest kid. I trust him.”

“Me too,” said Armie. “All of that.”

_Thank god,_ he thought. He had been hoping Nick would see what he saw. It made him feel more in control, knowing he wasn’t the only one who was intrigued by the kid.

After his second set, Tim packed up and Armie slid around to talk with him.

“Do you have somewhere you need to be, or can you hang around for a while?” he asked, as Tim latched his guitar case.

Tim glanced at his phone, and hesitated. “Not especially,” he said. “I can stay.”

“If you do have to go, that’s fine,” said Armie.

“I don’t,” said Tim, shaking his head firmly.

“Good,” said Armie. “Have a seat at the bar, let me get you some dinner.”

Tim shook his curls out of his eyes and one corner of his mouth tilted up. “You keep feeding me, I might have to keep coming back.”

“Noted. So, what you’re saying is I should bring you a burger _and_ the nachos _and_ some chocolate cake?”

“You had me at chocolate cake. Just fucking set up a cot in the office. No need to be fancy about it, I’m not picky.”

Armie laughed. “You prefer goose down pillows or fiberfill?” he asked, backing toward the kitchen.

“Come on man, don’t scrimp on the pillows. I do have some self respect,” Tim called after him.

When he returned from the kitchen with two loaded burgers and a plate of fries, Tim was hanging up his phone. Armie set a burger down in front of Tim and gestured at his phone.

“You _did_ have somewhere to be,” said Armie.

“I didn’t. I swear,” laughed Tim. “I was setting something up for tomorrow.”

“Another gig? You cheating on me already?” joked Armie. He picked up the ketchup and shook it all over the fries. Tim didn’t respond, and when Armie looked at him in question, he saw a look of horror on Tim’s face.

“ _What_ did you just _do_?” asked Tim.

“What?” Armie looked around in confusion.

Tim pointed at the plate of fries, now doused in ketchup. “That. That...bloodbath.”

“Oh.” Armie frowned. “I’m sorry. Do you not like ketchup?”

“I do. But that’s not the point,” said Tim. “You put the ketchup _on the fries._ ”

“Where am I supposed to put it?”

“In a puddle to the side. So that you can dunk the fries into it.”

Armie felt a smile creeping onto his face. Tim was jerking him around. “What the fuck is the difference?”

“The difference is that now, the fries are unevenly ketchupped.” Tim threw his hands in the air as if this was the most obvious statement in the world.

“Ketchupped? Is not a word.”

“You knew what I meant, so it was an effective signifier of a concept, which makes it a reasonable word.”

Armie stared at Tim. “Who _are_ you?” he asked.

“Also,” said Tim, “now that you’ve drowned the fries, they don’t have a fighting chance. They’ll get soggy.”

Armie raised an eyebrow. “I can fix that,” he said. He grabbed a huge handful of ketchup-slathered fries and shoved the entire bunch into his mouth. Once he had swallowed the sticky mess of crispy potato, and he carefully and deliberately licked his hand clean.

When he was done, he leveled a gaze at Tim, who was staring with his mouth open.

“Problem?” asked Armie.

“You’re kind of insane, aren’t you?” Tim laughed.

“Want me to get you another plate of non-‘ketchupped’ fries?” asked Armie, wiping his hands on a napkin.

“No,” said Tim. “Your way looks more fun.” He grabbed his own handful and mimicked Armie’s gluttonous actions, right down to licking his hand clean.

Armie had a hard time watching that last part, seeing Tim’s tongue flicking in and out of his mouth. And he had a hard time with the fact that he was having a hard time. He busied himself getting another beer and tried not to sneak another peek. So when he did, Tim was smirking at him, like he knew something Armie didn’t.

They talked, about nothing of any consequence, until it was time to close _Cor Cordium_ at one a.m.

After the last patrons had left, Tim helped Armie turn the chairs onto the tabletops, wipe down the counters, and mop the floor, even though Armie told him he didn’t have to.

“I should pay you,” said Armie.

“You fed me enough today to feed seventeen people for a week,” Tim pointed out. “And you gave me some extra cake for the road. I’m pretty sure I’m the one coming out ahead.”

“How’d you make out in tips?” Armie asked, gesturing at the now-empty tip jar on the stage.

“About sixty,” said Tim. “Not too shabby.”

“Especially for your first Sunday, during football season,” said Armie. “It’ll increase.”

Tim shrugged. “Even if it doesn’t, that’s sixty bucks more than I had this morning.”

“How does it compare to what you make busking?”

“Depends. On where and when I’m playing and what types of crowds are listening. Sometimes it would be more, sometimes a lot less.”

Armie nodded. “Okay,” he said with a yawn. “I’m ready to collapse. Can I put you in a cab?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” said Tim. He reached for his coat.

“It’s getting colder,” Armie said, glancing out the windows. “And the T is done for the night. How else are you getting home?”

“Um...someone is coming to pick me up,” said Tim.

“Oh.” Of course. “Girlfriend?”

Tim snorted. “No. A friend.”

“I’ll hang out with you until they get here.”

“Actually, I’m meeting them over on Mass. Ave. Just easier for them.”

Armie frowned, but let it go. Mass. Ave was only a five or six minute walk from the bar, and there were a lot of annoying one-way streets in and around Davis Square.

“Want me to walk with you?” he asked.

Tim shook his head. “Go home. You’ve let me monopolize enough of your time today.” He finished buttoning up his coat, slung his messenger bag across his chest, and hefted his duffle onto his shoulder.

Armie thought back over the hours of conversation and tried to remember what they had covered. Sports, the bar, condiments, Marvel movies...it all kind of blurred into this vaguely Tim-shaped sense of warmth. He laughed softly.

“ _Let_ you? I’m pretty sure you let me bribe you to stay with food and drink.”

They grinned at each other. After a minute, Tim pushed his hair off his forehead and got serious.

“Listen, thanks again for this gig. I’m really...I hope we can continue it, because I like playing here. This place is…” He trailed off, looking around the room. “Anyway. I just want you to know I appreciate it. And I take constructive criticism, so if you want me to do anything differently, just tell me and give me a chance to fix it.”

“Sure,” said Armie. “You too. If something’s not working for you, let me know.”

Tim nodded. “Okay then.”

“Okay then,” replied Armie.

Tim gave a little salute, picked up his guitar, and walked out.

Armie watched him go. As he locked up for the night, he realized he was already looking forward to the following Sunday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, people, condiments on the side.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendship -- and other things -- grow. The mystery deepens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I didn't lie when I said the last one was the last bonus update. I believed that when I said it, then I changed my mind.
> 
> This time, it's not about willpower. It's about the fact that I have had the most amazing day ever and I want to spread the love where I can. I was able to meet someone I have admired for many, many years. It was totally unexpected. I'm still shaking and it happened nearly six hours ago. So this is my way of paying forward the good vibes to those of you who are in this story with me.
> 
> I'm particularly proud of this (long long JFC so long I can't believe it) chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**Chapter 5**

Sundays quickly became the highlight of Armie’s week. He switched his day off from Sundays to Mondays so that he could have an excuse to be at _Cor Cordium_ when Tim was playing. He spent the days leading up to Sundays thinking of topics he wanted to hear Tim’s opinion on. He hummed Tim’s songs in the shower and while he walked around the city. He thought of Tim whenever he heard something funny or saw something interesting, and resorted to making notes on his phone so he would remember to bring them up the next time they talked.

Liz wasn’t happy. After the arguments at the charity dinner, she had frozen him out for a few days. He let her, needing the space to think about the future of their relationship. When she finally called him, he waited for her to apologize for the way she acted that night. She didn’t, not explicitly, but he felt like she was apologizing in her own, Liz-like way.

“Guess what I’ve been thinking about?” she had asked, when he picked up the call.

_Yourself?_ he thought. “What?” he had said.

“That place we went for brunch after my masters’ graduation,” she said. “We haven’t been back, but that place was great.”

He searched his memory. He did remember her graduation; it had been before he opened _Cor Cordium_ , before she had decided that they were a real couple. They had spent the night together, and in the morning, instead of staying in bed, he had made her get up and get dressed and dragged her out for another celebration, just for them.

Armie smiled. He didn’t remember the exact place; it hadn’t really been anything special, but it was the first time he had taken her out after they had been together. It was the first time she let him kiss her in public, lips sticky with pancake syrup.

“I remember,” he said. “But I don’t remember where the place was.”

“I do,” she said. “Let me take you there tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” It was a Thursday, the next day would be Friday. “Don’t you have to work?”

“I work all the time,” she said breezily. “If I take a few hours off one morning to spend with my hot boyfriend no one will raise an eyebrow.”

He had laughed at that, and he accepted. They seemed to pick back up where they had left off, pretending that their argument and their brief period of estrangement didn’t exist. He let it go, allowing her to slide back into her place in his life. He hadn’t made any decisions, and knew he wasn’t likely to make them anytime soon. The path of least resistance at least allowed him to put his focus on the pub and its growth, things that brought him joy.

However, now that he was spending Sundays at the pub, they had less time together. She made her displeasure known in a variety of ways, making snide comments and passive aggressive social media posts and complaining loudly about how he was married to his bar — anything short of actually sitting down and talking to him about it.

Armie was kind of glad she was passive aggressive by nature. If they talked about his sudden schedule change, they’d talk about Tim, which was another sore spot. He had stopped mentioning the kid to her almost immediately, after she had made it clear that she thought Tim was somehow beneath their notice. She had also intimated that there was something strange about the way Armie had so quickly become a fan, and since Armie himself was a little unsettled by that, he felt it best to just keep the two separate.

But it was a simmering pot, and Armie knew it would boil over sooner or later. He just hoped it would happen late enough that he would have decided the right way forward, and what he needed if their future together was to work.

So November passed, and by early December, Armie had settled into his new routine. He was pleased to see he had been right about Tim’s performances increasing business; word was spreading about the kid’s talent, and his Sunday business had nearly doubled.

Nick had suggested adding a Wednesday night show as well, to capitalize on the draw, and Armie had decided to ask Tim if he’d be interested. He was surprised the kid didn’t have gigs lined up every night of the week already, and he figured he’d take advantage of that by locking him in to _Cor Cordium_ for a second night while he still could.

Tim was more surprised than Armie thought he had a right to be.

“Seriously? You want me to play another night?” he asked the first Sunday in December. “What if that means fewer people will come on Sunday?”

“It won’t,” said Armie. “But it might mean more business on Wednesday.” Tim had just finished his first set, and they had taken up their spot at the corner of the bar, drinking a beer and sharing a plate of fries — ketchup on the side, and damned if the kid hadn’t been right about that — during the break.

“You know I’m going to say yes,” said Tim.

“I’ll pay you the same as I do for Sundays,” said Armie. “But you’ll probably see less in tips. That okay?”

“Yeah. I’m still just…” He trailed off, running his hand through his curls and ducking his head.

“Still what?”

“Still...amazed anyone wants to pay me for this. I mean, it’s what I’ve always wanted, but it doesn’t feel real.”

Armie wanted to tuck a finger under Tim’s chin and pull his face up so he could look into the kid’s eyes -- no, he didn’t, that was ridiculous -- but he settled for clapping a hand on his shoulder instead.

“Tim, listen to me,” he said. “You know I think you’re talented. Nick does, or else he wouldn’t have been the one to suggest adding another show for you. Luca sings your praises on the regular — as if I need the encouragement. My customers love you. All these people can’t be wrong.”

Tim laughed softly, his cheeks turning bright pink at all the compliments.

“That’s what’s so hard to believe, I guess,” he said. “That anyone actually wants to listen to me on purpose.”

“Frankly, I’m shocked you don’t have other gigs. I mean, why people don’t snap you up in a second when you audition is beyond me.” Armie snatched Tim’s empty mug and refilled it. “They must not have ears. Or eyes.”

Tim played with the frayed cuffs of his sweater, biting his lip. “Well...I haven’t really tried to get other gigs,” he said softly.

“Why the hell not?” Armie had sort of suspected that Tim’s lack of work was because he wasn’t putting himself out there, and this was confirmation.

“Just...I’ve got a lot of stuff going on.” He looked away again, and Armie detected a note of despair in his tone that concerned him. He wondered if Tim was in some kind of trouble, or if his problems were of an interpersonal nature.

Maybe he was having issues with a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, Armie realized suddenly. Tim had acted like it was ridiculous when Armie had suggested that a girlfriend was picking him up that first Sunday night; maybe he was gay.

That thought made Armie suddenly very curious to learn more about Tim’s life. They had talked about a lot of things, but less about themselves and more about the world. He felt like he knew Tim because he was coming to understand the way Tim looked at everything around him, and he was beginning to get a handle on the things Tim enjoyed and hated, but he didn’t actually know that much about the kid himself and his background.

“Anything I can help with?” he asked, refilling his own mug and trying to sound as casual as possible.

Tim shook his head quickly, his curls flying. “No, I’ve got it under control.” He looked up and grinned. “If you keep feeding me and letting me play, you’re doing more than I have a right to expect.”

Something about that comment stopped Armie in his tracks. Tim’s self-esteem was truly shitty, and Armie knew that continually reassuring him wasn’t going to do any good. He’d have to take other steps to _show_ Tim his value. He’d have to think about how best to do that.

“Then that’s a ‘yes’ to Wednesday nights?” asked Armie.

“It’s a ‘hell yes,’” said Tim. He lifted his mug and tapped it against Armie’s. “I better start writing new material; people will get sick of hearing the same stuff over and over.”

_Not possible_ , thought Armie. But Tim’s statement made him think of something he could do to help.

“You know, if you want a test audience, you could always come by in the mornings. I’m here by eight most days, setting up and doing business work. We don’t upon until eleven, but if you wanted a place to play and get an opinion...the door’s open.”

As soon as he offered it, he realized he was hoping Tim would agree. He wanted more time with Tim, beyond their Sundays and a little extra time he’d now get on Wednesday nights. The thought of having Tim in the pub with him, noodling on his guitar...getting to watch Tim put songs together, try out different lyrics and melodies...well, it made his stomach flip around and around in a way he didn’t truly understand.

Tim was blinking at him in surprise. “Really?” he asked.

“Really,” said Armie. He grinned. “I’m a superfan of Timothée Chalamet. I’d love a behind-the-scenes look at the process.”

“It might be like making sausage,” said Tim. “You might not want to look too closely.”

_Not possible_ , thought Armie for the second time.

During the following week, he waited anxiously each morning for Tim to show up for practice sessions, but he never did. On Wednesday night, Armie thought about asking Tim about it, but decided not to push, because the kid seemed quiet and withdrawn, barely talking to Armie.

Maybe he had overstepped by offering to listen in while Tim worked. Maybe Tim didn’t want an audience. Maybe he needed to be alone to create. Maybe he wasn’t as anxious to spend yet _more_ time with Armie, which, come to think of it, made perfect sense. Armie’s disappointment made him irritable, and Liz took the brunt of it.

“What is your problem?” she asked him on Friday. He had, at her insistence, gotten Nick to take over for him that evening so he could take her out to dinner.

He shrugged. “Nothing,” he said. “Just...pub stuff.”

“I thought business was going well. You said your take was up by 12% last month over a year ago.”

Armie marveled at how everything came down to the numbers for Liz. He wondered what it would be like to see the world in that much black and white: profit equal to success, success equivalent to happiness.

“It is. It’s not that...I’m just trying to make some decisions about direction, and it’s not easy.”

She looked at him then with genuine concern. “Want to talk to me about it? You used to talk to me about the business all the time, and lately...I want to help, if I can.”

He hesitated, but decided to try to explain. “You know I’ve had Tim -- Timothée Chalamet, that kid we saw busking -- playing on Sunday nights for a while. He’s playing on Wednesdays, now, too. Nick’s idea,” he said, quickly, at her look of surprise. “That 12% increase in business? It’s in good part due to an increase in Sunday profits because people are coming back to see this kid.”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You think he’s really that good?” she asked.

“I do. I mean, what do I know, right? _I_ think he’s incredible. The next Ed Sheeran, maybe. But I’m not the only one. Luca Guadagnino--”

“Who?”

“He’s a pub regular, a professor at Berklee. Thinks Tim has something truly special. And my other customers, the ones who tip him and keep coming back...we’re not all wrong,” he said, echoing the conversation he had had with Tim the previous weekend. He frowned. “For some reason, though...he isn’t pursuing other gigs. I think it’s because he doesn’t believe he’s that good.”

“Well, if he did get other gigs, that would benefit the pub, right? Because he’d develop more of a following, and be in more demand, so people would come to _Cor Cordium_ for Tim even more than they do now.”

“I guess,” said Armie, even though that wasn’t really what this was about.

“You could even start charging a cover on nights he plays, if he gets popular enough, even locally,” said Liz, tapping her index finger against her chin. He hated the idea of charging a cover, but stayed silent. She smiled. “Have an event,” she said, finally.

“What kind of event?”

“Invite the local owners to come listen one Sunday or Wednesday night. If he’s as good as you think, he’ll get offers.” She sat back in her chair and sipped her wine, looking pleased.

Armie had to admit, it wasn’t a bad idea. Part of him hated to share Tim with anyone, but he also wanted the kid to succeed, and to know he was worthy of attention. He leaned over and kissed Liz.

“I love how smart you are,” he said. She was pleased with the comment.

By the next evening, he had gotten the word out to the other pub owners in Davis Square, and a handful in other parts of the city, and invited them to come by on Sunday night to hear Tim play.

“What’s your skin in this game, Armie?” asked Fred Hunter, who owned a small place called _Instrument_ in Winter Hill. “You getting into the talent scouting business, now?”

“I just think this kid is good, and if he’s successful because I gave him a boost...how does it hurt that _Cor Cordium_ was his first gig?” Armie had replied. He wasn’t about to explain that he had started to care about Tim, as a person and a friend, and wanted things to be good for him even if it didn’t benefit Armie’s business at all. He hadn’t explained that to Liz, after all...why would he explain it to Fred?

He wasn’t sure how many would come, but he decided not to mention it to Tim, in any event. No need for the kid to get more nervous than he usually did.

On Sunday afternoon, Tim was late. Armie discreetly greeted a half dozen local owners, glancing repeatedly at the front door for any sign of him. He tried calling, and got a strange generic message rather than Tim’s usual voicemail.

He rushed in at twenty minutes to four, looking frazzled and exhausted. Armie took his bags — the messenger and the duffle, as always — to lock up in back and offered to grab him a quick meal. Tim declined, saying he’d get something between sets, and hurried to set up the equipment, brushing off Armie’s offers to assist.

Armie backed off, and was relieved when, ten minutes before the first set, Tim caught Armie’s eye and raised his eyebrows, grabbed his coat, and then headed for the kitchen. Armie finished what he was doing and followed a minute later, nodding to the line cooks on his way out the back door.

It had become a tradition for him to join Tim for a cigarette before his first set, and they had taken to using the back door and the alley behind the pub rather than the street out front. Armie liked the privacy, as did Tim. It allowed them to be in their own little bubble for a short while, which seemed to help Tim’s nerves. The kid hadn’t been lying when he said he always got nervous before a performance; it didn’t seem to fade no matter how many times he went onstage at _Cor Cordium._

Outside, Tim was standing with his hands shoved in his pockets and the collar of his maroon coat pulled up against the cold. And it was cold. It hadn’t snowed yet — it usually didn’t snow in Boston until Christmas or after — but the temperatures had dropped again that week. Tim’s breath was coming out in little clouds, and his nose was turning red.

When Armie walked out, Tim swiveled around.

“Can I bum one today?” he asked. “I’m out and didn’t have a chance to grab more.”

Without answering, Armie pulled his pack out of his coat pocket and shook out two cigarettes. Sometimes they shared; but Armie got the sense Tim would need his own that day.

Armie lit one of the cigarettes and handed it to Tim, then lit his own. He watched Tim carefully. The kid seemed even more on edge than he had on Wednesday, more than his usual nerves. He was extra quiet, and fidgeting, digging the toe of his boot into the dirt and drumming his fingers against his thigh. Even through the layers of his wool coat, Armie could see the tension in his shoulders.

“Hey,” said Armie.

Tim’s head jerked up. “What?”

Armie frowned. “You okay?” he asked. “You seem…”

It occurred to him that Tim had maybe figured out what Armie had been up to, that there were other bar owners in the audience scouting him. He tried to decide if he should bring it up or leave it alone.

Tim sighed. He swung around and fell back against the wall, closing his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said. “Like I said the other day, I’ve just got some stuff right now, and it’s...it has nothing to do with this.” He opened his eyes and focused on Armie, his gaze clear and pleading. “It won’t affect what happens on stage, I swear.”

Armie shook his head, still frowning, and Tim must have taken that to mean that Armie was worried about the performance, because he squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Just don’t fire me,” he whispered. “Please.”

“Woah, hold on,” said Armie softly. He moved to lean up against the wall beside Tim, shifting until his arm was flush against Tim’s, the way they had stood on that very first night. He nudged Tim. “No one is firing anyone. I don’t even really give a shit if you do have a bad night, I’m just...worried.”

Tim let out a breath and relaxed slightly beside him, leaning into his arm. “Okay,” he said. “Sorry I’m acting insane. It’s...I already got fired once this week, so I’m a little anxious about it happening again.”

That surprised Armie. “Fired from where?” he asked. “Why?”

Tim glanced at him. “You think I’m supporting myself playing for you once a week? Or twice now, I guess.”

Of course Armie hadn’t thought that. It just hadn’t occurred to him that Tim had another job. He’d never talked about it.

“Weren’t you busking?”

“Yeah. Still am, kind of, but it’s harder in the winter. I pretty much have to play in the T stations and those spots are hard to come by.”

Armie considered that. He knew that winter sent buskers underground; he had just never known any personally and hadn’t considered that indoor spots were limited.

“What have you been doing instead? Why in god’s name did they fire you?” He felt a sudden possessive urge to punch whoever was making Tim hurt like this.

Tim shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. They were right to fire me, I wasn’t...it was hard for me to keep a schedule that worked.”

“Is that what you were talking about last Sunday?” asked Armie.

Tim hesitated. “Basically,” he said.

Armie took a drag from the cigarette and blew it out in a thin stream. Something occurred to him.

“Hey, do you...do you need some extra cash?” he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. “Something to tide you over until you find something else?”

“No,” said Tim. “Definitely no. I’m not taking money from you, Armie. You’ve already done enough.”

“You wouldn’t be — it would be an advance. Like, I can pay you a couple of weeks ahead, and we can catch up later when you’ve got more breathing room.”

Tim was quiet for a minute, and Armie thought he was considering it, but then he said, “Thank you. Really. But no.”

Armie pursed his lips. “Okay, then...you want a job?”

The look on Tim’s face was almost comical. “Uh...Armie...I already have a job here, remember?”

“I mean another job. You want to wait tables, or bus, or something?”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “You looking for extra help?”

“Yeah,” Armie lied.

“Right.” Tim rolled his eyes. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.” He brought the cigarette to his lips for one last drag, and then nudged Armie. “Let’s go in. It’s cold as fuck out here. I need to warm up my hands before they’ll be able to work the guitar.”

Armie followed Tim inside without saying anything further. The kid didn’t want his help, he had made that clear. Only, he was about to get it. The owners were still inside, waiting to hear this talent Armie had bragged about. He sent up a silent prayer that Tim really wouldn’t have an off night. He needed the extra gigs this could produce.

It was a few minutes past four when Armie introduced Tim. He managed to keep it together while he did so, even though his stomach was a swirling mess of nerves and worry. Nerves about what the others would think and how Tim would perform, and worry about what Tim had told him.

He needn’t have had the nerves, at least. Tim sounded incredible, as always, captivating the room for the entire hour with his original lyrics and melodies, his emotive features, and his charming audience banter. Armie watched the other bar owners carefully and could tell they were impressed.

In between sets, Armie made Tim eat a burger and a piece of lasagna. Tim protested at first, but cleaned both plates. Armie knew the kid had a healthy appetite, but now he began to worry that he ate so heartily while at _Cor Cordium_ because he didn’t have enough to eat elsewhere. He decided to pack up some extra sandwiches for him to take with him that night.

While Tim ate, Armie visited with the other owners, who were all grouped at a table in the corner.

“When you’re right, Hammer, you’re right,” said Alan Warner, who managed acts at _R.J. the Lion’s Place_ in Central Square. “That kid is going places.”

The others murmured their agreement.

“So...you interested in giving him a shot?” asked Armie.

“Definitely. What does he do for the second set?”

Armie shrugged. “Depends on the mood of the crowd. He’s got a handful of set lists and more than enough originals and covers to last at least five hours, if not more.” Armie glanced around. “A bunch of these guys are repeats...they’ve heard Tim before. So he’ll probably do a mix of his own stuff and some popular covers.”

The owners all decided to stay for the next set, and Armie returned to the bar, where Tim was polishing off the lasagna. He grinned at Armie, and relief flooded Armie’s system.

“Feeling better?” he asked, removing the empty plates and tossing them in the bus tray under the bar.

“Yeah, much. Sorry about before. Dumping on you, I mean. I was stretched a little thin...haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I can imagine. You’re under a lot of stress,” said Armie. “But, Tim...you don’t have to apologize. I think we’re more than just a boss and employee here. We’re friends, aren’t we? You can talk to me about...stuff. And you can even ask me for things. I’d like to help.”

Tim’s eyes softened. “I’m really glad I met you,” he said. “Yeah, we’re friends. And thanks.”

After the second set, Tim was packing up the equipment when Armie led the special audience over.

“Tim,” he said, “I’d like you to meet some friends of mine.” He introduced each of them in turn. “Guys, this is Timothée Chalamet.”

Tim looked surprised at first, then more and more wary as Armie listed the bars they were from. But he shook their hands and smiled, telling them he hoped they had enjoyed the show.

“Loved it,” said Fred. “Armie here wasn’t exaggerating when he called you the next Ed Sheeran.”

Tim’s eyes flicked to Armie at the compliment, and he blushed. “Well, I don’t know about that, but thank you.”

Alan spoke up. “I know you’re booked here Wednesdays and Sundays, but would you be interested in playing for me on Thursdays? It would be the late slot, from twelve to one.”

“Oh,” said Tim, eyes wide. “I wasn’t—“

“Hang on,” said Fred, “I was going to offer a Thursday slot. I guess I could bump someone from Fridays. You’re better than most of my Friday acts.”

“Friday happy hour,” said Alicia Williams, who owned _Bar Exam_ down by the courthouse.

The others apologized that they couldn’t offer an immediate regular slot, but they’d be interested in having him fill in until one became available. Throughout the one-sided conversation, Tim was looking more and more uncomfortable. Finally, he spoke up.

“Thank you all,” he said. “I really appreciate the offers, but I can’t take on any more gigs right now. Maybe...if you’re still interested in the spring, that might work.”

Everyone looked surprised. Armie was sure if he could see his own face, he’d see the shock evident there, too.

“Tim—“ he began, but Tim shot him a look and he shut up fast.

“Seriously, it was nice to meet you all. I’ve got to run, but I hope you had a good time tonight.” He picked up his guitar case and practically fled towards the kitchen.

Armie looked at the others, who were clearly confused, and maybe a little annoyed.

“What the hell was that?” asked Alan. “Why did you ask us here if he wasn’t interested in additional work?”

“I’m sorry,” said Armie. “I thought he was. He’s a little shy, so…”

“We overwhelmed him,” said Alicia. “It’s kind of adorable, actually. As a persona, it works. I’m definitely still interested, even if these idiots aren’t, so tell him to call me.” She produced a card from her pocket and handed it over.

The others followed her lead and said their goodbyes.

Frustrated, Armie headed for the kitchen to find Tim and figure out why he would turn down paid work when he clearly needed the cash.

Tim was waiting by the locked office, already wearing his coat, arms folded across his chest, staring at the ground. When Armie approached, he looked up, and Armie’s step faltered at the anger he saw there.

“I’d like my things, please,” said Tim, his voice low and even.

Armie nodded and unlocked the office door. “You taking off already? Not going to hang out?” He hated the disappointment he felt at realizing Tim’s intention, but the kid was clearly pissed.

Tim entered the office and silently shouldered his bags, re-adjusting his grip on his guitar.

“Tim…” Armie began.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Tim whirled on Armie. “What was that?”

Armie bristled. Were they actually going to argue about this? He closed the office door to give them privacy. “ _That_ was you turning down multiple paid gigs after revealing to me that your financial situation is dire,” said Armie. “So I should actually be asking you what the fuck that was. Why would you do that?”

“Those people, they all just happened to be here tonight? At the same time?”

“Well…”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. You set it up. You invited them. To see me. Without asking me.” Tim clenched his teeth and shook his head. “Don’t you think I maybe should have been let in on the plan?”

“Okay, so I set it up. I thought — think — you deserve more work. And I didn’t want to make you nervous, in case it didn’t pan out.” It still sounded reasonable to Armie, but Tim rolled his eyes.

“That was humiliating,” Tim said. “Having to turn them down when they were clearly expecting me to say yes. Did you tell them I didn’t know they would be here?”

“No,” said Armie. “But Tim... _why_? Why did you turn them down? These are good people. They treat their talent well. They’d pay you fairly. That’s why I invited them.”

“It’s none of your fucking business, okay? You keep asking these questions. Always questions. Jesus Christ, take the hint. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Armie took a step back, feeling like he had been slapped. “Yeah, okay. Message heard. I’ll stop bothering you. I’ll leave you alone.”

Just as suddenly as it had seemed to come on, Tim’s anger slipped away. Instead, the exhaustion was back, and a sadness that made Armie’s chest hurt.

“No, that’s not what I…” He sighed, his eyes filling with moisture. “I know you only wanted to help. I just can’t...you don’t really know me, Armie. You think you do, but you’ve got no idea…”

He dropped his guitar and duffle to the ground and turned away, rubbing at his face.

Armie watched him, and realized that Tim was...crying.

“Hey,” he said, stepping closer. “Don’t do that. Don’t—“ Armie couldn’t take it anymore. He closed the rest of the distance and wrapped his arms around Tim from behind.

Tim stiffened, but Armie didn’t relent, simply turned Tim around and brought him in close. After a moment, Tim gave in and melted against Armie, burying his head in Armie’s chest.

Armie stroked Tim’s hair, murmuring nonsense, feeling more and more afraid as Tim shuddered in his arms.

Finally, Tim made to pull away. Armie tightened his hold for one final squeeze and then released the kid. He let his hands trail down Tim’s sleeves until he was able to grab Tim’s hands in his own.

“Friends, remember?” said Armie. “I fucked up. I shouldn’t have called them without asking you. I’m sorry. But don’t...don’t run off. I won’t push you anymore, I promise.”

Tim sniffed, and raised his eyes to Armie. Once more, Armie found himself stunned by the depth of emotions he saw there.

“Yeah,” said Tim. “I’m sorry I flipped out. It was a nice thing you were trying to do. I’m just..frustrated with my life at the moment. Not with you, or _Cor Cordium_ ,” he added hastily. He flexed his hands in Armie’s.

Was it weird Armie didn’t want to let go? He was holding hands with Tim. He didn’t hold hands with anyone, except sometimes Liz. He found himself stroking the backs of Tim’s hands with his own. Tim didn’t pull away, so he kept doing it. He looked down, and noticed that Tim’s hands were slightly red, and chapped.

“You need to wear gloves,” said Armie. “Protect these money-makers.”

Tim laughed and this time he did pull his hands away. “Yes, mom,” he said, his voice light and tentative.

“Come on. Take off your coat, stay a while. The Pats are playing the night game, they’ve started by now. We can have a beer and yell at the television. No more questions.”

Tim nodded. “Instead of a beer, can I have chocolate cake?”

“You can have both,” said Armie with a smile. “As long as it makes you happy.”

Tim shook his head. “You’re deranged,” he said. “Beer and chocolate cake. It’s as bad as drowning fries in ketchup. But maybe a scotch…”

“I like the way you think,” said Armie, slinging his arm around Tim’s shoulders and leading the way out of the office.

He knew things weren’t really okay. Something was going on with Tim, something bad. Even though he had promised to stop asking questions, he wasn't going to stop worrying. Eventually, he’d figure it out, and figure out how to help.

In the meantime, scotch and chocolate cake was the best he could offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Playlist pulled from my Writing Playlist:
> 
> Thinking Out Loud - Ed Sheeran  
> Perfect - Ed Sheeran  
> Such Great Heights - Iron & Wine  
> Famous Lover - Fire Marshals of Bethlehem  
> The Fear You Won't Fall - Joshua Radin  
> All We Are - Matt Nathanson  
> The Weight of Us - Sanders Bohlke  
> The Blower's Daughter - Damien Rice  
> Singer Songwriter - Okkervil River  
> Our Life Is Not a Movie Or Maybe - Okkervil River  
> Believe - Mumford & Sons  
> Dust Bowl Dance - Mumford & Sons  
> Home - Phillip Phillips  
> Sunday Morning - Maroon 5  
> Here's Looking At You, Kid - Gaslight Anthem


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is very wrong, and Armie isn't willing to sit by any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, you're all incredible. I sit here and wonder what I did to deserve the comments and love that you're willingly giving me.
> 
> Side benefit: this sparks inspiration, and since I'm moving forward, you get more story.
> 
> Soundtrack: The Civil Wars. I spent much of this chapter listening to "Barton Hollow," but their self-titled album is also tremendous.
> 
> Also...I'm sorry. I know when he hurts, we all hurt. But it had to be done.

**Chapter 6**

On Wednesday, Tim arrived earlier than usual, looking worse than he had on Sunday. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks looked windburned. He asked if he could sit in the office for a bit before dinner, to “have a little time to himself and get in the right frame of mind” and Armie wordlessly unlocked the door and ushered him inside.

He normally never let anyone — except Nick — in the office without him. The safe was locked, but there were personnel files and other things that needed to be secure. But he trusted Tim, so he didn’t worry.

About forty-five minutes before his first set, Armie went to check on him and get his dinner order. He found Tim sitting in his desk chair, sleeping, with his head pillowed on his folded arms.

Armie hesitated to wake him; Tim had said on Sunday he hadn’t been sleeping, and it tugged at his heart that the kid felt comfortable enough at _Cor Cordium_ to take a nap like this.

He quietly moved closer, using the moment to examine Tim more closely. His sweater had a stain on the sleeve, and his curls looked dull and tired. That, in addition to the chapped cheeks and hands, ratcheted up Armie’s worry.

What was going on?

Unable to resist, feeling almost like he had lost control of his body, Armie reached out and smoothed a hand through those curls. Tim made a soft noise of contentment, so Armie did it again. Then he ran a knuckle over Tim’s cheek, and Tim smiled. He turned his head into the touch, and Armie brushed his fingers along Tim’s jaw, eliciting a deep sigh that _did_ something low in Armie’s stomach.

Tim’s eyelids fluttered open, and he looked up at Armie with an open adoration in his green eyes that sent a shock of warmth through Armie’s from his head to his toes. That look quickly -- unfortunately -- gave way to confusion. Tim sat up with a start.

“What…god, did I fall asleep?” he asked, looking around. He rubbed the palms of his hands against his eyes, and Armie could practically hear how gritty they were. “Shit, I’m sorry. What time is it? Did I miss my set?”

“You’re good,” said Armie. “You’ve got forty-five minutes. I came to see what you wanted for dinner, but if you want to sleep more, I do actually have a cot I could set up.”

“Better not,” said Tim. “The way I feel right now I might very well go down for the night.”

“Maybe that’s not such a terrible idea,” said Armie.

Tim shot him a look. “And the show?”

“We’d survive,” he said. “I’ll tell everyone you’re sick. Which...might not be so far from the truth. You don’t look so hot, Tim.”

“I appreciate the confidence.” But Tim smiled, so Armie knew he wasn’t upset. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m fine. Just tired. I think I’ll skip the beer and go straight to coffee, if you don’t mind.”

He stood, wobbling a second before finding his footing.

“Sure,” said Armie. “Whatever you want. Andrew added a buffalo mac and cheese with sausage to the menu and it’s amazing. Want me to have him make you that?”

Tim’s stomach growled loudly at the mention of food, and he laughed. To Armie, it seemed less funny than it had the first night they met. But then, Tim was thinner now, his bones protruding through his pale skin in ways that had Armie very worried and wondering why he hadn’t noticed it earlier.

“That’s a yes vote, I assume,” was all Armie said, forcing a smile onto his face.

Despite Tim’s clearly less than perfect state, his performance was flawless. When he was finished, he perched on a bar stool, propping his head in his hands. Armie slid a glass of orange juice in front of him, and Tim peered at it.

“You giving me a screwdriver?” he asked, sniffing it.

“It’s just juice,” said Armie. “Humor me and drink it, and then I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Tim gave him a funny look but did as he was told.

After his second set, Tim seemed to want to linger. He stayed until close and insisted on helping the staff clean up, even though he seemed dead on his feet. When everyone else was leaving, he made motions to get his coat, looking like he was dreading walking out the door.

“You need to be somewhere?” asked Armie as he gave the bar one last wipe down.

Tim looked around. “You’re closed. And going home, I’m guessing.”

Armie shrugged. “Yeah. You could come,” he said. “Hang out a while.”

It was the first time Armie had suggested Tim come back to his place. He didn’t have people over often; Liz, Nick and Stacy, that was about it. But the place was decent and he thought maybe he could convince Tim to crash for the night.

He was beginning to think Tim might...not have a place of his own.

And that thought scared him.

Tim peered at him. “Come to your place?” he asked.

Armie shrugged. “If you want. It’s close by.” He paused. “I’m not trying to be creepy, but it kind of sounds that way, doesn’t it?”

“It’s late,” said Tim. “Don’t you want to go to sleep?”

“Eventually. I tend to be a little wound up after a shift. Takes me a while to slow down.”

“I should probably sleep,” said Tim. “I mean, I did pass out on your desk earlier.”

“You can always crash at my place, if you needed to,” said Armie. “I have a guest room and everything.”

Tim hesitated. He looked at the ground, scuffing his toe on the floor, and Armie’s heart leapt. He was considering the offer. The thought of being able to give Tim a safe place to spend the night — as he was more and more certain Tim didn’t have that — made his chest swell.

But Tim shook his head. “Not tonight,” he said, shrugging into his coat and gathering his things.

“Tim—“

“I should get home. See you Sunday.” And he was out the door into the night before Armie could say anything else.

Armie tried calling Tim the next day, to check on him, but got a message that the number had been disconnected. He frowned at his phone, and his worry increased.

Luca was in that afternoon, and Armie brought up the subject of Tim.

“Luca, how much do you know about Tim? His life, I mean?” asked Armie.

Luca peered at Armie over the tops of his glasses. “As much as anyone can really know about a person, which is to say...I know what Timothée chooses to share. I suspect other pieces. And I am ignorant of the rest.”

“But you know him pretty well, I thought,” pressed Armie. “What do you know about his family? He said college didn’t work out. Was he at Berklee? Is that how you met him?”

Luca sighed. “I don’t want to share what Timothée has chosen to keep private,” he said. “But...yes, I met him at Berklee. He was my student.”

Armie nodded. It made sense. With that much talent, and the connection to Luca, of course Tim had been at one of the country’s preeminent conservatories. Before, for whatever reason, it didn’t work out.

“I’m worried about him,” he told Luca. “I think...I think he might be in a bad situation, and I’d like to help. I’m in a position to help. But he won’t let me.”

“I worry as well.” Luca looked at Armie searchingly, and then, seeming satisfied with what he found, he smiled. He reached out a hand and laid it on top of Armie’s. “You must not give up on him. Too many have.”

Armie wondered what that meant. “I can’t even reach him,” he said. “His phone’s been disconnected.”

Luca frowned. “Yes. But you will see him when he comes for his next show? Ask him about it then.”

“I will,” said Armie. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to find Tim sooner than that.

His instincts proved correct when, early on Saturday morning, Armie got a call from Tim. The call came into the pub, and not Armie’s cell, which was a little odd, since he had given Tim his number weeks ago “in case of emergency.”

It was more odd because it was barely seven. Armie had woken up early and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep, so had come in before his usual time to get some work done. When the phone rang, he jumped, and stared at it in confusion for a moment before managing to answer.

“ _Cor Cordium Pub,_ ” he said.

“Armie?”

“Tim?” Armie sat up straight. “What’s wrong?”

Tim’s voice sounded distant, reedy and thin, and a little hoarse.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I didn’t expect anyone to pick up, thought I’d leave a message.”

“I came in early,” said Armie. “What’s up?”

Tim cleared his throat. “Well...the thing is, I’m not going to be able to come in tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Armie. “But what’s going on? Are you sick?”

There was a pause. Then: “Yeah.”

Armie tried to figure out what to say. He didn’t want to scare Tim off, wanted to keep him on the line.

“Want me to bring you soup?” he finally said. “Or saltines? What kind of sick are you?” _More like where are you_ , he thought.

Tim laughed. “No, but thanks,” he said.

“Tim...I tried to call you the other day, but it said your number had been disconnected.”

“What?” Tim asked loudly. Armie could hear noise in the background, a roaring. The roaring died down. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“Your phone. It was disconnected.”

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot to pay the bill this month so they turned it off. But I have a new one. I can give you the number.” He rattled off some digits, and Armie wrote them down on the back of a receipt.

“Hey, you okay?” asked Armie. “Besides...being sick? Because you can ask me—“

“I’m fine,” said Tim. “But, actually…” He trailed off, and Armie waited impatiently, hoping Tim was actually going to ask him for help. Instead, Tim heaved a sigh that broke slightly at the end. “It might be awhile before I can play for you again.”

“What? Why?” Armie stood, fear coursing through him. This was the last thing he had expected, and he felt Tim slipping through his fingers.

“I’ve got some stuff going on that I need to deal with,” he said. “It’s not...it has nothing to do with you. I promise. And I do want to come back, if there’s a spot for me. In a while.”

“There’s always going to be a spot for you,” said Armie, gripping the phone tightly. “Tim, please tell me what’s going on and let me help. You’re making me crazy over here.”

Tim laughed. “You really are an amazing person, you know? There’s nothing you can do. Don't worry about me. Please. I’ll call when I can come back.”

“Wait,” said Armie, afraid Tim was about to hang up.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s meet for breakfast. Just tell me where.”

There was a pause. “I told you, I’m sick.”

“Tim, you’re not...you’re not at home. You’re out somewhere. I don’t care if you’re really sick or not. Let me meet up with you. Please.”

“No, Armie,” said Tim. “I’m sorry. I didn’t...you’ve been great. So, in case I don’t talk to you for a while, thanks for everything. The last couple of months have been...you really made my dream come true for a while, and I won’t forget that.”

Armie turned cold. Tim wasn’t saying “see you later.” He was saying goodbye.

“Tim. Timmy. Tell me where you are.” Armie was desperate now. He couldn’t let Tim hang up. He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and shrugged into it. “Now, Tim. I’m coming to get you.”

“Armie, stop. Just don’t worry about me. Focus on the pub, and Elizabeth, and Nick. His wedding is soon, right? You’re the best man, you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

Armie heard murmurings in the background, beneath Tim’s voice. An announcement of some kind.

“Timmy—“

“Bye, Armie.”

The line went dead, and Armie swore. He grabbed up his cell and punched in the number Tim had given him. It rang through to a generic voicemail message. Armie hung up and tried again, with the same result.

_Fuck._ He closed his eyes and tried to focus. Where would Tim be? He remembered the roaring in the background, the announcement. A T station, probably. But what station?

He focused harder. He thought maybe he had heard the phrase “Ashmont train” in the announcement, which meant red line. Without waiting any longer, Armie darted out of the office, through the bar, and out the front door.

If he had to stop at every red line station between Davis and JFK, he would. Halfway down the block, he suddenly stopped. There had been another part of the announcement that was registering. Something about... _frosting?_

Suddenly, Armie knew where Tim was. He changed direction and broke into a run. At this time on a Saturday morning, it would be faster to drive.

He broke seventeen traffic laws and pissed off as many drivers — which was hard to do in Boston, the aggressive driving capital of the country — on his way downtown. When he reached his destination, he parked illegally and raced for the closest subway entrance.

Downtown Crossing. It was a notorious spot for the homeless, especially in the winter, because the tunnels were elaborate and long. Plenty of spots to camp out and difficult for the police to keep them swept clear. Since Armie was positive by now that Tim didn’t have a place to live, it made sense he’d be crashing here out of the cold as long as he could.

As he descended the escalator, he kicked himself for not taking action sooner. Tim’s evasiveness about his living situation, the ever-present duffle, his increasingly poor health and exhaustion as the weather got colder...he should have seen it. During the fall, Tim had probably been able to get into shelters fairly easily, but in the winter they got overcrowded and full. You had to wait in long lines for hours in order to get a spot, which was probably why Tim had been unable to keep his job. It was also probably why he had turned down the offers of gigs. He would get out of them too late to get into a shelter and end up out in the cold for the night.

Armie cringed at the thought that, the entire time Tim had been playing for him, he had had to stay outside for the night on the nights he performed. Tim’s willingness to stay late and hang out made more and more sense; it wasn’t that Tim liked Armie — not the way Armie seemed desperate for more time with the kid — it was that _Cor Cordium_ was a reprieve from what waited outside the door.

Well, that was ending now. Armie no longer cared if Tim did or didn’t want his help. He was getting it.

He strode through the tunnels on a clear mission, dodging the occasional passenger and glad it wasn’t more crowded. His eyes scanned everywhere for a familiar pair of green eyes and mop of dark curls. He made it all the way to the red line platform and then worked his way back out to the street by another entrance, then down again through yet another.

He finally found him in the long tunnel between the red and orange platforms. Armie stopped in his tracks at the site of the kid, curled around his duffle, using his messenger bag as a pillow, his face buried in the arms of his coat so that only his hair was visible. Armie cringed at the sight of Tim’s skinny legs in his jeans, dirtier than he’d ever seen them and getting grungier still against the cold, muddy tiles of the station. The area smelled like piss. Armie’s stomach protested at the idea that Tim was trying to sleep there, and a surge of anger filled him that Tim wouldn’t tell him what was going on and let him help before it came to this.

He approached and crouched down next to Tim.

“Hey.” His voice came out sharper than he had intended, and he tried to bank his anger. It wouldn’t do any good.

Tim jumped and groggily shoved himself to his feet. “I’m going, I’m going,” he mumbled, grabbing the straps of his bags.

Armie rose with him, reached out and grabbed his sleeve. “Hey, Tim.”

Tim froze and turned to face Armie. He blinked, what little color was left draining out of his face. “Armie?” he gasped. “What are you — why are you here? How are you here?”

“I’m a fucking genius. I cracked the case. Come on, you’re coming with me.” He tightened his grip on Tim’s sleeve, afraid the kid would try to bolt.

Instead, Tim’s shoulders slumped. He seemed to give up suddenly. “Okay,” he said listlessly.

Armie pulled the duffle and messenger bag from Tim and slung them over his own shoulders. He wasn’t sure how Tim had even managed to carry them around, as weak as he looked.

He didn’t let go of Tim — just in case — but adjusted his grip so that he was gently holding onto Tim’s arm instead of his sleeve. He began to lead the way back out of the tunnels.

Suddenly, he stopped. “Tim, where’s your guitar?” he asked.

Tim shrugged.

“Did someone steal it? I swear to god, Tim—“

“No one stole it,” said Tim, his voice soft. “Don’t yell.”

Armie closed his eyes, searching for patience. “No yelling. Okay? What happened to it?” Tim mumbled something, and Armie leaned closer. “What?”

“I sold it,” Tim said, his voice breaking. He stumbled slightly.

“Jesus. Damn it, Timmy.” Armie let go of Tim’s bicep and wrapped his entire arm around the kid’s thin frame. Tim shuddered at the contact, and Armie’s heart started to break into pieces. “Let’s go,” he said.

They began to move — slowly, since Tim was having trouble coordinating his movements — and Armie did what he could to support Tim’s weight. They didn’t talk as they mounted the escalator and made their way onto the street. Tim made a whimpering sound at the stiff gust of frigid wind that greeted them on the surface. Armie did his best to shield Tim from it until they got to his car.

He was thankful that no one had yet been by to ticket it.

He propped Tim up against the side of the car while he unlocked it and opened the passenger door.

“You’re not supposed to park here,” said Tim, pointing at the clearly marked “No Parking” sign above his head. “It’s illegal.”

“So call the cops on me,” said Armie. “Come on, get in.”

The fact that Tim didn’t protest as Armie folded him into the seat and then buckled him in was worrisome.

Armie placed the duffle and messenger bag in the trunk and then settled himself in the driver's seat. He started the car and then turned on the heater at full blast, adjusting the vents so Tim would get the bulk of the warm air. Tim sighed as the car warmed, resting his head against the headrest and closing his eyes.

It was only after Armie had pulled out into the growing traffic and set them on the road back to Cambridge that Tim spoke. His eyes stayed closed, and his voice was ripe with exhaustion.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked. It sounded as though he didn’t really care. As though Armie could have said “jail” or “Mars” and it wouldn’t have mattered.

“Home,” he said.

“Oh.” Then Tim registered what Armie had said, and his eyes opened. “What?”

“Home. My place. Where did you think I was taking you?”

Tim peered at him. “I don’t...I wasn’t really thinking. Armie, you don’t have to do this. You could drop me at a friend’s place—“

“A friend who you’ve clearly not been staying with until now? Hardly. Besides, _I_ am a friend. So I _am_ taking you to a friend’s place. Ha.”

Tim smiled. “I guess I can’t argue with that logic.” He closed his eyes again, and within a minute, he started to snore softly.

Armie shook his head. Anger and fear and sadness were at war in his heart. He was afraid for Tim, for his health and his future. He was sad that someone so talented and incredible was struggling. He was angry at Tim for not asking for help and at himself for not pushing harder. It all made him clutch the steering wheel with white knuckles and hit the gas a little too hard.

He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. It wouldn’t do anyone any good for him to crash the car.

When he was feeling more in control, he pulled out his phone. “Hey, Siri,” he said. “Call Nick.”

The phone obeyed, and a moment later, Nick was answering.

“This better be good,” Nick said sleepily. Armie glanced at the clock. It was barely eight-thirty.

“I need you to cover for me at the pub today and tonight. Can you do that?”

There was a pause. “Yeah, of course. What’s wrong? Is it Liz?”

“No,” he said. “We’re fine. I’ll explain later. Thanks, man.”

“I owe you, like, fifty of these. Don’t worry about it.” There were muffled sounds, and then Armie could hear Stacy’s voice, saying something he couldn’t make out, followed by Nick speaking away from the phone. “I know. Can we reschedule?” Stacy again, then: “You’re the best, babe. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Shit, what are you missing?” asked Armie.

“Nothing important,” said Nick. “I’m supposed to be shopping for groomsmen gifts this afternoon, but Stacy is going to take care of it.”

“Groomsmen gifts?”

“It’s a thing, apparently. So if you end up with something crappy you’ll know you’re to blame. Ow.” More muffled sounds. “She just hit me with a pillow.”

“Tell Stacy I owe her one, too.” Armie glanced at Tim, who still appeared to be sleeping. “Also...Tim isn’t going to be able to play tomorrow, so you’ll need to cancel or call in a back-up.”

“Oh.” Nick paused, and then sighed. “So it’s Tim.”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s Tim’?” Armie asked.

“The reason you need me to cover. Everything all right? You guys need my help, or are you finally figuring things out? Do you need me to cover tomorrow, too?”

Amie was silent for a minute. He wasn’t sure what Nick was talking about, unless somehow Nick knew before he did about Tim’s homelessness. He didn’t want to ask, in case Nick _didn’t_ know, because it wasn’t his place to reveal that secret.

He finally settled on: “He’s sick, that’s all. I’m helping him out.”

There was another pause. “Tell him to...feel better. Don’t worry about the pub, I’ll go in now. You two have fun.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks again.”

Armie hung up and placed the phone in the cup holder, concentrating on navigating through the construction in Harvard Square. They’d be home in ten minutes, and then...he was going to get some answers out of the kid.

After he got him cleaned up, fed, and rested.

Tim was still asleep when Armie pulled into the driveway of his condo. He decided to leave him there while he brought his things inside and made sure everything was presentable. He didn’t really think Tim would run without his bags.

With the bags in hand, he unlocked his door and climbed the stairs of the three-story house, of which his unit took up the top two floors. It gave him just over two thousand square feet of space in an early twentieth-century structure that had been totally renovated right before he purchased it a couple of years earlier.

He still thought it was too big for just him, but he loved it anyhow.

He set the bags down in the guest room on his first floor, and checked to make sure there were sheets on the bed and towels in the adjoining bathroom. He poked his head in the refrigerator to see what he could offer Tim to eat, and was pleased to see he had eggs and milk that hadn’t expired, an unopened package of shredded cheese, a pepper that looked okay, and onions that hadn’t started growing green shoots.

He made his way back down the stairs to the car. When he got there, he found that Tim was awake, still slumped in the passenger seat, looking miserable. He didn’t look at Armie as Armie opened the passenger door.

“You still with me?” Armie asked, concerned.

“Yeah,” said Tim.

“Then...let’s go inside. It’s cold out here.”

Tim closed his eyes and shook his head. “Jesus. What the fuck are you doing? Why am I here?”

Armie hesitated. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes, I’m talking to you,” said Tim. He swiveled just his head, and his eyes fastened on Armie, imploring him for answers. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Because...where else am I supposed to bring you?” Armie felt the anger rising again. “Get out of the car,” he snapped, “or else I’m going to carry you inside.”

Tim blinked at him and then crumpled, letting his head fall into his hands.

“Shit," said Armie. “I’m sorry. Timmy, I’m sorry. Just...you’re scaring the hell out of me, and I don’t know how else to make sure you’re safe.” He crouched down next to the kid and put his hand on his shoulder. “Can you come inside? I’ll help you. It’s warm in there. You can...take a shower, sleep, get something to eat...whatever you need.”

Tim was shaking his head, his words muffled behind his hands. “I’m so...fucking embarrassed,” he said. “This isn’t...it’s not me. It’s not. Or maybe it is. And I don’t want you to think it _is_ me, because you think I’m...something special. And I’m not. I’m just...a fuck up. But I don’t want you to see that, not you.” He lifted his head and turned to look at Armie, his eyes moist. “Now that’s all you’re going to see.”

Armie shook his head fiercely. “Wrong,” he said. “I still think you’re something special, okay? Otherwise I wouldn’t be here with you at all. I would have just said ‘okay catch you later’ when you called this morning.”

Tim stared at Armie a moment, and then burst out laughing.

“What?” asked Armie. He started to grin back, relief that Tim was smiling intensifying his own reaction.

“‘Catch you later’? Is that how you talk?” He started to giggle uncontrollably, doubling over in his seat.

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Armie, chuckling at the sight of Tim’s laughter.

“Nothing. Please please please use that for real at some point. In public. Promise me,” Tim gasped.

“I’ll do anything you want if you’ll just come in my house,” said Armie. “I’m freezing my balls off out here.”

Tim sighed, his giggles subsiding. “Yeah. Okay,” he said. Then he snickered. “Wouldn’t want that.”

Armie got to his feet and stepped aside, and Tim pushed himself out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

“Can you make it in?” asked Armie. “Or…”

“I’m okay,” said Tim.

Halfway up the stairs, however, Tim stumbled. Since he was going first, Armie reached up and steadied him, leaving his hand on Tim’s back for the rest of the way.

“I just haven’t...it’s probably because I haven’t eaten today,” Tim said, slightly out of breath.

“Today?” asked Armie as he reached around Tim and opened the door. “What about yesterday?”

“I ate yesterday,” said Tim.

Armie led the way into the condo and Tim followed.

“What did you eat?”

“A sandwich,” said Tim. “From Subway.”

Armie rolled his eyes. “That’s it?”

“I was trying to save my money,” grumbled Tim. “Hey, where’s my bag?” He looked around wildly.

Armie pointed down the hall. “On the bed in the guest room, down there,” he said. “I didn’t go through your things, just brought them in.”

Tim’s eyes widened. “No, I didn’t mean…” he trailed off, taking in his surroundings. “This is your place? It’s...nice.”

“Thanks,” said Armie. “Let me take your coat.”

Tim shrugged out of his coat and handed it over, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Still cold?” Armie crossed to the thermostat and cranked the heat up a few degrees. “This works pretty fast, it should be warmer in a minute or two.”

Tim nodded.

“Follow me,” said Armie. He led the way to the guest room and opened the door to the bathroom. “There’s towels in there. Why don’t you take a shower — or a bath if you’d prefer — and I’ll make you breakfast. Omelettes okay?”

“Great,” said Tim. “I...thanks. I’d like a shower. I know I stink. I haven’t been able to get to a laundromat, and—“

Armie waved away Tim’s comments. “You don’t stink,” he said. He wasn’t just saying that, he honestly hadn’t noticed. “But if you don’t have anything clean, I’ll bring you something to wear while we wash your stuff.  I’ll leave it on the bed.”

Tim blushed, but nodded. Armie left the room, closing the door behind him. He leaned up against it for a moment, closing his eyes. The relief he felt having Tim safe inside his house was enough to make his knees shake.

Before he let it overcome him, he pushed away from the door and bounded up the stairs to his own bedroom. He rifled through his drawers, searching for something that wouldn’t fall off of Tim’s thin frame. He finally settled on a pair of grey sweatpants with a drawstring waistband that still had the drawstring intact and a plain black t-shirt that he knew was a little tight on him. He dug out a pair of socks as well, and then descended the stairs once more.

He paused outside the door to the guest room. He could hear the shower running inside, so he lightly knocked. When there was no answer, he pushed the door open slowly. The door to the bathroom was closed, steam swirling out beneath it.

Armie entered the room and set the clothes on the bed. He paused there a moment, knowing that Tim was on the other side of that door. It made him feel funny, thinking about it, so he backed out of the room, closing the door behind him once more.

When Tim emerged from the guest room, hair curling wetly around his ears and Armie’s clothes hanging off of him, the omelettes were finished. Wordlessly, he slid them onto plates and set the plates on the dining room table.

“Sit,” he said.

Tim did, and Armie retrieved the coffee pot, filling both mugs before setting it on the table and taking his own seat.

He let Tim get through half of his omelette — which took almost no time, the way he was shoveling bites into his mouth — before speaking up.

“So,” he said. “You want to tell me what happened?”

Tim paused, the fork halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”

“Well...how long has this been going on? Is it recent, or have you been...struggling...the entire time I’ve known you?”

Tim set his fork down and took a breath. “What would you say if I said I didn’t want to talk about it?”

Armie sighed. “Answer me one question, honestly, and I’ll let it go.”

Tim nodded. Armie pursed his lips. He had to ask, but he didn’t want to. He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but...he took a deep breath.

“Are you...is it because of something like drugs?”

Tim’s eyes flashed. “Fuck you,” he said. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Fuck you very much.”

“Hey, wait.” Armie stood as well, grabbed Tim’s shoulder. “Don’t freak out. I didn’t really think — I just had to ask. Okay?”

Tim bit his lower lip. He relaxed. “Yeah. Fine. Okay.”

They both sat again. After a moment, Tim picked up his fork again, and they ate in silence.

When they were done, Armie picked up the plates. “You want another one?” he asked.

Tim shook his head. “Sort of, but if I do I might get sick.”

“Just let me know when you’re hungry again.” He crossed into the kitchen and rinsed the plates, placing them in the dishwasher. “I do have one more question,” said Armie.

“What?” asked Tim warily.

“Your guitar. Why did you sell it?”

Tim sighed. He slouched in the chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I needed the money,” he said.

“But your guitar is how you got money,” said Armie.

“Yeah, I know. But...I hadn’t been able to get into a shelter since Monday, and I was going a little bit insane. I couldn’t think. I thought that if I could just get one night with a warm bed and a place to shower and do my laundry, I could figure out a way forward. I pawned it, figuring I’d find a way to get it back. Only…” he trailed off, hanging his head.

“Only what?”

“Only. I couldn’t get anyone to let me get a room,” he said. “I didn’t try everywhere, but everywhere I did try...it didn’t matter that I had the cash. They took one look at me and threatened to call the police. I should have set my sights lower,” he mumbled.

“Oh, Tim…” Armie closed his eyes against the wave of sadness he felt that Tim had gone through that humiliation. Then some of the earlier anger returned. “You know, if you weren’t such a stubborn asshole, you wouldn’t have had to go through that.”

Tim blinked at him in surprise. “Armie—“

“No, you know what? I’m kind of mad at you, and you might as well know it.”

Tim seemed to shrink in his chair, but Armie had to get this out. He began to pace, Tim watching him with wide eyes.

“I’ve been so worried this week. For the past couple of weeks, actually. I offered for you to spend more time in the pub, during the mornings, and you didn’t come. I offered to give you a job, and you turned me down. I got you a bunch of new gigs, and you said no. I even offered to let you crash here the other night, and you walked out.”

“I didn’t want—“

“I know. You didn’t want me to know what was going on. You didn’t want to need help. But you _did_ need help. If you had just told me, it wouldn’t have gotten this bad. _I wanted to help you_ , and you keeping this from me — your friend, remember? — was making both of us suffer.”

“But I couldn’t—“

“Yeah. You couldn’t take the gigs because you wouldn’t be able to get into the shelter. That’s why you couldn’t hold down a job, too, right?” Armie waited for Tim’s hesitant nod. “Okay, But it’s a cycle. A cycle you couldn’t break out of on your own. If you had just let me help you—“

He stopped pacing and crashed into his chair, burying his head in his hands.

“I was so scared for you. When you hung up this morning and then didn’t answer, I flipped out. I nearly called the cops.”

When he looked up, Tim’s eyes were wide green saucers.

“Armie,” he began cautiously. When Armie stayed silent, he continued. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother anyone else with my problems.” He sighed. “Look, it started in the spring, after the semester ended. I was supposed to do a summer term, live in the dorms, but my parents...they stopped paying for school. So the school kicked me out.”

Armie raised his head and waited.

“I couldn’t go home, so I crashed with...a...friend.” Tim seemed to choke on the word, and cleared his throat. “I crashed with someone for a while in an apartment he was renting for the summer. But when school started again, he went back to the dorms, and I couldn’t...there wasn’t really anywhere for me to go.” He shrugged. “I managed for a while. I had been busking, and had made some friends that way. I stayed with some of them on and off, had enough cash for hostels now and then, stayed in shelters when I didn’t want to burden anyone and was out of money.”

When he didn’t go on, Armie spoke up, keeping his tone quiet. “When did that stop working?”

Tim shrugged. “A few weeks ago? The shelters started filling up earlier and earlier. There was less money coming in. I was having to choose between working and having an indoor place to sleep. And then it all just…” He threw up his hands. “The friends I had made stopped answering my calls, or went somewhere else for the winter, I don’t know.”

“That must have been terrifying,” said Armie.

“Yeah, well…”

“What happened with your family? Why did they stop paying for school?” asked Armie.

Tim shook his head. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? They just...did.”

Armie decided to let that go, since Tim had opened up with the other information. He got to his feet. He moved to Tim and placed his hands on Tim’s shoulders, massaging gently. Tim stiffened at first, and then relaxed under the touch.

“Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go into the guest room, get into bed, and sleep until you’re not tired anymore.”

Tim moaned slightly as Armie’s hands moved up to massage his neck. Armie smiled.

“Meanwhile, I’m going to go out and run some errands.”

Tim’s eyes fluttered open. “Where are you going?”

“The grocery store, for one. We need food. Any requests?”

“Whatever is fine,” said Tim. “I have cash, I can—“

“Nope,” said Armie. “Don’t even think about it. And don’t try to give me money to stay here, either. You’re staying here as long as you need to break out of that cycle and get on your feet. No arguments, I’m sick of arguing.”

Tim smiled. “I’m going to argue.”

“Save it for later.” He patted Tim’s shoulder. “Now...go to bed.”

Tim stood and stretched. “I am pretty exhausted,” he said.

He moved towards the guest room, then stopped and turned. “Armie...thanks. You have no idea…”

“I think I do,” said Armie. “You’re welcome. Just...be here when I get back, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” said Tim.

Once the door had closed, Armie gathered his wallet and keys and laced up his boots. On the way out the door, he had a thought and went back to the coat closet. He rummaged around in Tim’s coat, grunting with satisfaction when he found what he was looking for: a small pawn ticket.

He checked the address. It wasn’t too far away. Looked like he had one more stop to make.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of cautious domesticity and settling in. (High fluff quotient.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the midst of heavy revisions at the moment (posting and re-reading has cleared up some pathways that were giving me trouble later on, which has required going back and re-working some things), and heading into a busy week with evening commitments, so I'm fairly certain you guys will have to wait a bit after this one. (Famous last words. Who needs sleep, right?)
> 
> I was primarily listening to Nicole Atkins (Audiotree Live and Goodnight Rhonda Lee) and Charles Bradley while writing this, which are very different music styles from what I've posted so far, but I think it did sort of influence the tone. (For those of you who are interested in that kind of thing.)
> 
> I'm behind on replying to comments, but I am reading (and usually re-reading) each and every one, and I am incredibly grateful that you're following this little pub story and interested in these characters and their intertwined fates. Thank you!

**Chapter 7**

Tim slept most of the day.

Armie returned around one in the afternoon with bags full of groceries and one previously pawned Timmy-guitar and found a silent house. He noted that the door to the guest room was still closed and made himself calmly put the groceries away and stow the guitar in the office closet before checking to make sure Tim was still there.

He quietly opened the door and peered inside the room. Tim had drawn the shades, which had dimmed the room, but Armie could clearly see him sprawled on his stomach across the guest bed. The soft down comforter rested across his lower back and legs, but his bare feet peeked out the bottom. His head was turned toward the door, and Armie smiled at the sight of his open mouth and the puddle of drool collecting on the pillow.

He wanted to ruffle the kid’s hair like he had done when Tim had fallen asleep in the office at _Cor Cordium_ , but he resisted. Here, it would be weird. So he backed out of the room, closing the door.

The rich smells of simmering chili dinner — Armie’s kitchen specialty — filled the house by the time the door opened again and Tim emerged. He shuffled into the living room, yawning and scratching his chest, around six.

Armie looked up from the book he was reading and smiled. Tim’s curls were sticking up at odd angles and were flatter on one side of his head than the other. He had faint pink creases on his pale skin from where his head hadn’t moved from the pillow for hours.

“What?” asked Tim, stopping short when he saw Armie grinning at him like a fool.

“Nothing,” said Armie. “You look...cute.”

Tim went very still for a moment, then smiled back. “I feel like I’ve been asleep for days. What time is it?”

“A little before six. You hungry?”

“Starving. What smells so good?” Tim sniffed the air, and it was even cuter, and Armie grinned even wider.

He set his book aside and stood. “My famous chili,” he said. “Come on. It’s about ready, so you’ve got impeccable timing,”

Tim followed Armie through the dining room and into the kitchen. Armie lifted the lid off of the pot simmering on the stove and gave the contents a stir. He tasted it, and hummed with satisfaction.

“Grab a bowl,” he said, nodding at the bowls he had set on the counter earlier. Tim did as he was told, and Armie ladled a healthy helping of the chili. “There’s chopped onions and cheese if you want,” he said, gesturing at the counter. “And tortilla chips.”

They assembled their dinners and then sat at the dining table, the same spots they had taken that morning.

“Wow,” said Tim. “This is excellent.” He blew on a spoonful and shoveled it into his mouth. “Holy shit, you can cook.”

Armie laughed. “Some things, anyway,” he said.

They ate in silence until Tim pushed his bowl away and sat back in his chair, rubbing his stomach and sighing in contentment. “Oh my god,” he said. “I’m literally not sure I’ve ever felt this...satisfied.”

“Good,” said Armie. It warmed him to see Tim looking so relaxed, especially after the past couple of weeks. “Unless you want more, why don’t you have a seat in the living room. TV remote’s on the coffee table. I’ve just got to put the rest of the dinner away and I’ll join you.”

"I'll stay and watch," said Tim. "I better learn where everything is. So I can clean next time. Or cook. If you’re going to insist I crash here, it’s the least I can do.”

Tim’s words made Armie want to jump for joy. If Tim was acknowledging that he was staying...that was more than Armie had hoped for without a fight. So Armie rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, pointing out Tupperware storage, the pantry, and cleaning supplies as necessary. When the tutorial was done, he led them back into the living room, where they sat on opposite ends of the sofa.

Just when Armie was about to start a conversation, Tim sprang to his feet. “Be right back,” he said. Armie watched him locate the coat closet next to the door and rummage around inside.

“Tim,” he began, only to stop when he heard an explosive “fuck” from inside the closet.

Tim emerged, muttering. “Maybe I stuck it somewhere else,” he said. He made a move toward the guest room, and Armie called out.

“Tim, come back here.”

Tim stopped and stuck his head back into the living room. “I just have to check something,” he said. “It’s important.”

“Are you looking for the pawn ticket?” asked Armie.

“Yeah. I thought I put it in the zipper pocket of my coat, but maybe it’s in my wallet—wait, how did you know?“ Tim scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion.

“Stay there,” said Armie.

He had been planning to surprise Tim with the guitar later, but he didn’t want the kid freaking out. He went to the office and retrieved it, then returned to the living room.

Tim’s mouth dropped open when he saw the instrument. “What? How did you — what did you —“

“I didn’t like the idea of your guitar sitting in some pawn shop any longer than necessary. So I found your claim ticket and got it back.”

He held out the guitar. Tim hesitated. “You went through my coat.”

“Yeah. I’d say I’m sorry, but apparently in this case I’m a controlling asshole who doesn’t care as long as you get your instrument back. Here.”

Tim blinked at him. “Thanks,” he said. “I’d rather you not go through my shit, though.”

“Noted.”

“Will you do it again?”

Armie thought about it. “Maybe,” he admitted. “If it would let me do something to make you happy.”

Tim peered at Armie a moment, then rolled his eyes. He still hadn’t taken the guitar, which was in Armie’s outstretched hands.

“Were going to have to come back to this subject. Let me get the cash,” said Tim. “How much did you pay to get it back? I probably have enough.”

“No. Keep your money,” said Armie.

Tim frowned. “But this particular money I got by pawning the guitar. So it makes sense to use it to buy it back. If I don’t need it for a place to stay.”

“And now you can use it for something else.” Armie stepped forward and forcibly placed the guitar in Tim’s arms. “Would you take it already? Jesus.”

Tim lovingly stroked the guitar for a minute before looking up at Armie with something like wonder on his face.

“You _are_ a controlling asshole,” said Tim. “Are you going to be like this with everything?”

Armie shrugged. He was usually fairly laid back. With Liz, he mostly let her take the reins when they were together, making joint decisions, as long as it wasn’t that important to him. With Tim...it was different somethow.

“Maybe. Is that going to be a problem?” he asked.

Tim considered him a minute.. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

Armie laughed. “Come on, let’s talk.”

When they were seated on the sofa again, the guitar stowed in the guest room, Tim spoke first.

“Now that I have that back, I can play tomorrow,” said Tim.

Armie frowned. “No,” he said.

“No?” Tim looked confused, and a little distressed. “On the phone this morning, you said — do you not want me anymore? I guess I fucked up by not being reliable. But—“

Armie held up a hand. “Of course I want you, will you shut up a second? Stop jumping to conclusions. You already took tomorrow off; Nick probably found a backup act. You could use the time to recover. Coming back Wednesday is fine.”

Tim licked his lips. “Okay, but...what am I supposed to do instead? I’m not actually sick.”

“You’re going to spend the day putting your life back together,” said Armie.

“Like…”

“Like your phone. What really happened? They don’t turn it off because you forget to pay once.”

Tim sighed. “Yeah. My parents used to pay for it. When they stopped, I couldn’t afford it, so I missed a couple of months. Eventually I changed my plan, took away the data, tried to make it as cheap as possible, but I only ever made partial payments, so...they shut it off. I had enough to buy a cheap pre-paid. That’s how I called you this morning.”

“The phone you didn’t answer when I called you back.” Armie’s voice had a hard edge to it, and Tim winced.

“Well...it’s pre-paid. Limited minutes. I knew it was you, and I knew you’d just keep asking me questions I wasn’t gonna answer, so I let it go to voicemail.”

Armie nodded. “Fair enough. I guess I can forgive you for ignoring me. Just don’t...don’t do it again, okay?” He heard the strain in his own voice, and Tim must have, too, because he reached out and laid a soft hand on Armie’s arm.

“I won’t,” he said. “Promise.”

“Who was your carrier?” Armie asked.

Tim told him.

“There’s a store in Porter Square. We can go over there tomorrow, straighten it out so you can use your old phone again.“ He tapped a finger against his lips, remembering Tim’s iPhone. “Do you still have it, or did you sell it?”

“I have it. It’s not the newest model, so it wouldn’t have gotten me that much cash. I probably would have sold it eventually, but...it’s in my bag.”

“Good. How much did you owe? How many months did you skip?”

Tim scrunched up his forehead in thought. “Three maybe, before I canceled the data and tried to fix the problem.”

“So that’s...like three hundred? Four hundred?”

“Something like that,” said Tim. “You think they’d reinstate it with a partial payment? The guitar money would cover most of that, but not all of it.”

“Let’s worry about it tomorrow,” said Armie, already knowing he was going to take care of it. Tim would argue, so he didn’t plan to tell him until it was happening.

“Okay,” said Tim. “What else beside the phone?”

“Then, after we deal with that, you’re going to come up with a plan.”

“A plan for…”

“For you. You said that you sold the guitar so you could get at least one night indoors in comfort so you could think straight. Right?”

“Right.” Tim jiggled his foot nervously. “I just...I couldn’t think. All I could think about was being...cold. And dirty. And constantly afraid someone was going to steal my shit, what little I had left. I thought if I could not feel that way for just a minute, I would be able to see straight enough to come up with some way to...not have things be so fucked up.” Tim’s voice broke in the middle of his speech, and he wiped at his eyes with the palm of his hand.

Armie’s heart went out to the kid. Unable to resist, he reached across the sofa and grabbed Tim’s shirt, hauling him close and wrapping him in a hug. Tim went easily into Armie’s embrace, like when they leaned up against each other before a set or like that night outside the Fairmont Copley Plaza when Armie had tucked Tim to his side like he just belonged there.

Tim rested his forehead on Armie’s collarbone and breathed deeply, clearly trying to control his emotions. Armie stroked his hair and gave him time, trying to keep under control himself.

It was a little scary how much this kid affected him. A little scary that he was willing to do almost anything to make things better for him. Tim had said that Armie didn’t know him, not really, and that was true. It was also true that Armie knew the most important things -- that Tim was kind, and brilliant, and funny, and interesting -- and was willing to wait to find out the rest.

For now, he wanted to flush away all those fears and frustrations Tim had been dealing with. Let him focus on moving forward.

“That’s over,” said Armie, his voice gentle and soothing. “You’ve got a place to stay, and not just for a night. For as long as you need, all right? Your things are safe, you’re safe...and we can figure out what you want to do next.”

Tim flattened his palms against Armie’s chest and sighed.

“I don’t really understand why you’d do this for me,” said Tim, his voice muffled in Armie’s shirt. “But I’m going to let you, at least for a minute. Because I’m so fucking tired of feeling like I’m running up a down escalator with a shark-infested pool at the bottom.”

Armie tightened his arms and dropped a kiss onto the top of Tim’s head, and damned if that didn’t feel like something he had been waiting all his life to do.

“So. Tomorrow we can come up with a plan. Figure out what you want and how you’re going to get it now that you don’t have to worry so much about surviving. Tonight...I feel a bad movie marathon coming on.”

Tim pushed against Armie and sat up. Armie let him. “How bad are we talking?” he asked.

“We’re talking...that we scour Rotten Tomatoes for the lowest rated movies and hunt them up on Netflix or Prime. No wimping out.”

Tim grinned. “I’m in.”

“I’ll pop the popcorn,” Armie said. He unlocked his phone and tossed it to Tim. “You look up the worst movies of all time and start a list.”

Armie was in the kitchen, cracking open a couple of beers and watching the popcorn in the microwave to make sure it wouldn’t burn, when he heard his ringtone coming from the other room.

That was followed by Tim’s voice. “You’re getting a call,” he shouted. “From Liz.”

_Shit_ , thought Armie. He usually connected with her on Saturday afternoons to make plans for the coming week, but in the excitement of the day he had forgotten. Normally, if someone -- like Nick, for example -- had his phone when it rang, he’d just have them pick up for him. In this case, for some reason, he thought that might not be the best idea.

“Just let it go to voicemail,” he shouted back. “I’ll call her back in a minute.”

With the bowl of popcorn in one hand and the beers in the other, Armie returned to the living room.

Tim was staring at something on his phone.

“What’s the matter?” asked Armie, setting the beers on the coffee table.

Tim looked up at him. “I didn’t...I wasn’t snooping,” he said.

Armie paused. “And?”

“I was swiping away the notification that Liz had left a voicemail, and accidentally hit the Notes app,” Tim said.

“Ah,” said Armie. He cringed inside, knowing what was coming.

“You have...there’s a note with my name on it, and I...you would have looked at it too.” Tim was staring at Armie now, his eyes wide. “You totally would have. If you saw that someone had a note on their phone with your name on it--”

“Tim,” Armie began, a chill running through him.

“You’ve got...there’s all this _stuff_ . Things we’ve talked about. I don’t…” he frowned. “What _is_ this?”

Armie swallowed. “It’s not really anything,” he said. “At least, it’s not what you think. I just...sometimes I think of things I want to mention to you, or that you’d find funny, and I worry I’d forget, so I write them down.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just because I have a shitty memory.”

Tim looked back down at the phone. “This says it was created at the beginning of November.”

“Yeah, so?”

“You’ve been writing things down you want to talk to me about practically since we met?”

Armie took a deep breath. “It’s not creepy,” he said. “I swear, it’s just...I didn’t want to forget the next time I saw you, and once I did it the first time, it sort of became a habit, and--”

He stopped. Tim was blinking up at him, eyes wide. Then he looked back down at the Notes app, clicked away from it, and pulled up the browser.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat, “the internet consensus seems to be that ‘Manos: the Hands of Fate’ is the worst movie ever made. But it’s not the movie with the worst rating on Rotten Tomatoes. I found a list of those, and we have our pick of crappy horror movies, a bunch of sequels, and some other stuff.”

Armie sat on the sofa, relief coursing through him that Tim wasn’t pressing the issue of his stalker-notes. He set the popcorn on the coffee table. “You pick the first one,” he said, handing Tim his beer.

“Thanks,” said Tim. “Then I’m going with ‘Superbabies: Baby Geniuses 2.’”

Armie made a face. “Are there going to be talking babies in that movie?”

“If there aren’t, then they have falsely advertised the ‘genius’ in the title.” Tim waggled his eyebrows.

Armie thought for a second. “Okay, I...have an idea. But first I have to call Liz back, or else she’ll keep calling. You want to locate this train wreck of a movie?”

Tim handed Armie his phone, and nodded, picking up the remote. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Armie stood and climbed the stairs to his bedroom, dialing Liz along the way. She picked up immediately.

“Forget about me?” she asked, instead of saying hello.

“Never,” he said. “I just got bogged down in stuff today.”

“So, what do you think?”

He was confused for a moment, and then realized she must have left him a message. “I haven’t listened to your voicemail yet. I saw you had called and just called you back.”

“There’s an event on Wednesday night at Top of the Hub,” she said. “Something to do with local restaurateurs, a networking social. I can get us tickets. I thought it would be a good thing for you, to meet some of the other local restaurant owners.”

“I don't own a restaurant,” he said. “I own a pub.”

“That serves food,” said Liz. “And it could be a restaurant that serves alcohol if you wanted it to be. A small shift in focus, hiring the right chef...this is an event where you could get some ideas.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then he took a steadying breath. “I don’t want to own a restaurant,” he said. “I want to own a pub.”

“Okay,” she said, “but would it be terrible to meet other local owners? What if _Cor Cordium_ could be even more than it already is? Known for...like...gastro-pub cuisine?”

“I actually _am_ thinking of shifting the focus,” said Armie quietly. “But not to food. To make it more of a venue for local music artists.”

Now Liz was the one who was quiet. After a minute, she sighed. “Fine,” she said. “I still think this could be a useful event.”

“I’m working Wednesday night,” he reminded her.

“You’re always working,” she said. “Get Nick to cover.”

Armie knew that wasn’t going to happen. First, because he had already asked Nick to cover for the day, and was going to ask him to cover Sunday as well. Second, and more importantly, Wednesday would be Tim’s first night back, and Armie wasn’t going to miss that. But he didn’t want to explain any of that to Liz. It would require him to explain about Tim, and what had happened...and he knew that would cause an argument, which he was not in the mood to have.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just an inconvenient night. You should go, though. You don’t need me.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t.” She sighed. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you recently. Dinner Monday?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sounds good. Can I call you about it tomorrow, we can make plans?”

“Okay,” she said. “It sounds quiet. Are you in the back?”

Armie realized that she thought he was calling from the pub, didn’t realize he was home. Because he hadn’t told her. Because he didn’t want to get into it.

“Yeah,” he said.

As soon as he said it, he realized that he had just lied to her. Which was something he was going to have to deal with. For now, he just wanted to get off the phone, and get back to Tim.

And if that wasn’t fucked up, he didn’t know what was.

“Okay, well...I love you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you too,” he said, and hung up.

Next, he placed a quick call to Nick.

“Yes,” said Nick when he answered. “I’ll cover for you tomorrow.”

“Does no one say ‘hello’ anymore?” asked Armie.

“I knew it was you, and I knew what you wanted,” said Nick. “Was I wrong?”

Armie laughed. “No. You don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind. I’ve already cleared my schedule. Stacy’s going to come spend the evening with me here. It’ll be fun.”

Armie heard clanking of plates and a shout. “Everything going okay?”

“Fine. Andrew is mad at one of the line cooks, but it’s under control. How’s Tim doing?” asked Nick.

Armie paused. “He’s better,” he said, deciding not to get into the details and keeping up the ‘sick’ ruse.

“I bet he is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Armie, perplexed.

Nick chuckled. “Absolutely nothing. Tell him I said hi.”

Before heading back down the stairs, Armie dug a small box out of his nightstand. He weighed it in his hands, considering. Did he want to bring this down? After a moment’s consideration, he took it with him.

When he reached the living room, the movie was queued up on the screen but Tim was nowhere in sight. Armie went down the hall and found him in the guest room, sitting cross-legged on the bed, an oversized notebook spread out in front of him and a pen in his hand. As Armie watched, he scribbled something out, touched the top of the pen to his lips, and then began writing furiously.

Armie stood motionless, afraid to make a sound, afraid to disturb the vision in front of him. Tim’s back was slightly rounded as he hunched forward to write. He tossed his hair out of his eyes a few times with a flick of his head, and finally reached up with his left hand and pulled it off his forehead, holding it on top of his head. His brows were furrowed in concentration, and every so often his lips would move silently. He’d shake his head, or nod, and write some more.

After watching for a few minutes, Armie began to feel like he was intruding on something very private. He shifted, deliberately knocking his foot against the door.

Tim’s head snapped up. His gaze was slightly unfocused, but then it cleared and he smiled.

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry, were you looking for me?”

Armie shrugged. “I’m done with my calls,” he said. “What are you up to?”

“Oh.” Tim glanced down at the notebook, and then tipped it closed. “Nothing. Just...I had a thought, about a song I’ve been working on, and I wanted to get it down.”

“That where you write your stuff?” asked Armie, nodding toward the notebook.

“Yeah.”

Armie gazed at the notebook. It had a black, faux leather cover, and was slightly larger than a standard notebook. Suddenly, he desperately wanted to get a look inside it.

“Could I…” he gestured at the notebook. “Can I see?”

Tim hesitated a moment, and then, shyly, pushed the notebook towards Armie. Armie sat on the bed and picked it up carefully. On closer inspection, it was rather worn around the edges, with several deep scratches in the cover. _Well-loved_ , he thought.

He tipped open the notebook, seeing the sprawling signature at the top of the first page. “Timothée Chalamet,” it said, in letters that seemed somehow larger than the kid sitting a few feet away.

He turned a page and smiled at the sight of Tim’s handwriting. It wasn’t neat. There were groupings of words, phrases, paragraphs tucked onto every part of the page. In some spots, next to certain lines, were indicators for chord progressions, scratched out and rewritten and flipped around, as if Tim was trying out different melodies.

Armie turned page after page. Some pages were cleaner, sparser, as if they came out easily. Others were a devastating mess of cross-outs and arrows and scribbles, the strokes of the pen carving grooves into the paper. Armie traced his finger over a particularly dark, deep set of lyrics that he recognized. He could almost _feel_ the pain Tim had been feeling when he was writing them.

He got to the last page, recognizing what Tim had just been working on. He read over the lyrics.

“It’s still not right,” said Tim. He pointed at a section. “There’s something...it just isn’t right, yet. But it’s close, I think.”

Armie closed the notebook and handed it back to Tim. “Thank you,” he said. “For letting me look.” He felt like he had just shared something important with Tim. Even though what he had seen wasn’t clear, it had given him a better picture of the kid sitting in front of him, and he was honored that Tim had allowed him that intimate look inside.

Tim blushed slightly. “I don’t usually,” he said. “I mean, only a few people have really ever looked at it. Thanks for not...laughing.”

“Who would laugh?” asked Armie.

Tim tipped his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “People do. It is a little crazy in there.” He snorted. “Like in my head, sometimes.”

Armie had an overwhelming urge to reach out and run a finger down the line of Tim’s neck.

No, he didn’t. That would be completely weird.

“Well,” he said lightly, “I’m pretty sure it’s not crazier than making a movie about talking infants.”

Tim lowered his head and grinned. “Should we watch that craziness, then?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Actually, I...had an idea. About watching this movie. A side activity. But you can feel free to say no.”

Tim turned and peered at him warily. “What?”

“Well…” Armie handed over the tin box he had brought down from his bedroom and watched as Tim opened it.

Tim’s eyes went wide. “Huh,” he said.

“If you’re not into it, I’ll put it away,” said Armie quickly.

“I’m into it,” said Tim. “But I don’t want you to think...earlier, you asked me if things got the way they did because of drugs. I swear that wasn’t the case. I haven’t smoked weed since last semester.”

“I believe you.”

“I wouldn’t have spent my limited cash on something so stupid. A pack of cigarettes once every few weeks, maybe, but--”

“Tim. I believe you.” Armie grinned. “So. There’s a porch. Shall we?”

Thirty minutes later, they made their way back inside. Armie picked up the bowl of popcorn and nestled himself into the corner of the sofa, propping his feet on the coffee table. Tim reached into the bowl and picked up a handful of popcorn, shoving it into his mouth. His cheeks puffed out like he was a squirrel hoarding nuts.

Armie laughed at him.

“On’t,” said Tim, desperately chewing. He swallowed. “Don’t make me laugh when I have my mouth full, you ass.”

“Don’t shove so much in your mouth at once that it’s a problem,” said Armie.

“Bossy.” Tim flopped onto the sofa, landing next to Armie, their thighs touching. He didn’t move away.

Armie handed Tim the popcorn and reached for the remote. “Okay, he said, “talking babies in three, two, one…”

He hit play.

And if, at some point, he draped his arm on the back of the sofa behind Tim, and if, at some point, Tim rested against Armie’s side…

...that was just because of the weed making them relax. Armie was sure of it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friction, resolution, more friction, less resolution. Equal parts fluff and angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lesson is that I'm a lying liar who lies.
> 
> I said it might be a bit, but...revision and forward movement are progressing smoothly, so here we are. Now it might be a bit.
> 
> Longest chapter yet, I think. Oops. Or yay? Depends on your perspective, but this seemed to fit into a single chunk for me, so...you get it all together.
> 
> Love to you all.
> 
> Oh, and I speak really poor French (and my already poor French is rusty since I haven't used it in a while), so I relied on Google translate for the things I was unsure about in here. I apologize to any native French speakers for butchering your beautiful language.

**Chapter 8**

The next afternoon, Armie followed Tim into the house, catching the front door to keep it from slamming in his face.

“Come on, Tim—“

“Don’t talk to me right now,” said Tim. He yanked open the closet door, yanked his arms out of his coat, and yanked a hanger off the rack.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

Tim let out a short laugh. “Right. It’s ridiculous for me to actually want to do things for myself.” He shoved the hanger, now holding his coat, back onto the rack and slammed the door closed.

“No,” said Armie patiently. “It’s ridiculous for you to be mad at me for doing something nice.”

“But you didn’t _have to_. I had the cash. Not...enough. But most of it. So I could have paid most of that bill, and then owed you less.”

“You don’t owe it to me at all,” said Armie. He hung up his own coat — without yanking or slamming anything — and tried to keep his tone light. “I told you, I want to do this. You’re off the hook. It’s a gift.”

Tim glared at him. “A gift I didn’t _want_ , and didn’t _need._ But you’re not listening.”

He turned and stomped down the hall into the guest room, slamming the door behind him.

Armie sighed.

Things had been going well. The night before, they had finished the talking babies movie, smoked another joint, and giggled their way through two more terrible sequels.

Eventually, Tim had fallen asleep during the third movie, his head on Armie’s chest. Armie had spent far too long being as still as he could, afraid to breathe too deeply, enjoying the feel of Tim’s hair tickling his chin. He hated to disturb him, but had eventually woken him anyway so they could go to bed.

“I don’t know why I’m so tired,” Tim had yawned, rubbing his eyes. “I slept all day.”

“After a couple of weeks of no sleep,” Armie pointed out. “Go on, go to bed. I’ll clean up in here.”

Tim had stood, stretching his hands up toward the ceiling and arching his back. “Okay,” he said. He hesitated, ducking his head and fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. When he looked up, his cheeks were flushed. “Armie, I just...thank you. For letting me stay here. I wasn’t...I’m not sure how much longer I was going to last, and you…” He cleared his throat.

“My pleasure,” said Armie rising as well. “Seriously, you’re welcome.”

“I’m going to make it up to you,” Tim said. “Pay you back. Just tell me what you need, and it’s yours.”

“I just want you to be okay,” said Armie. “I happen to think you’re worth it. So...don’t stress about paying me back, all right? I’d rather you focus on you and not on me.”

Tim bit his lip, and then, suddenly, he took two giant steps forward and flung his arms around Armie. “Just...thanks,” he whispered. Armie had barely managed to return the hug when Tim backed away. “Night,” he said, and fled to the guest room.

In the morning, after breakfast, he had shown Tim the laundry room, so Tim could do his laundry, and then they had settled in to talk about everything else.

“Look,” Armie had said. “First of all, you can stay here as long as you want. Before you argue: there’s plenty of room, I can afford it, you’re not in the way, and I like having you around...if you couldn’t have figured out that last part.”

“I’m not super comfortable with things being so...open-ended,” said Tim. “Because you’re a nice guy, and you sort of have a Superman complex, so it would be really easy for me to take advantage of you without either of us realizing it. And that’s when resentment sets in.”

“You sound like you’ve experienced this before.”

“Sort of,” said Tim with a smile. “I’ve been crashing with people for months, on and off. It’s hard for people to say no once they’ve said yes. I’ve...lost some friends that way.”

“I guess I can see that.” Armie frowned. “Hang on, I have a _Superman complex_?”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Yes. You do. I mean, aside from sort of _looking_ like you could be Superman,” Tim ducked his head with a small smile, and when he looked back up he was blushing, “you want to fly in and scoop people — me, in this case — out of the way of danger. Which works out for me at the moment, but might make you feel obligated to keep being the hero even when it’s not necessary and you don’t really want to anymore.”

Armie considered this. “Okay,” he said, “how about this? We check in on Sundays, just like we’re doing now. I promise to be totally honest about whether I mind if you’re here or if there’s anything I need from you. And you can let me know where you are in the process of getting stable enough to move out without ending up in the same situation as last time.”

“So this would be like a week to week thing? One week at a time?” asked Tim.

“Yeah. Except...Tim, I’m not going to kick you out. At no point will I just tell you to leave, and that’s a promise. If I feel like it’s time for you to move on, or you do, we’ll talk about how much time you need. I don’t want you on edge or making desperate choices. That’s sort of the whole point here, for you to have time and a reliable home base from which to relaunch.”

Tim nodded. “Okay. And as soon as I can — as soon as I get another job and have regular money coming in, I want to contribute. For groceries or utilities or rent or whatever.”

“That’s fair. As long as it's going forward only. You’re not...racking up a debt with me here.”

Tim looked down at his hands. He sighed. “Fine,” he said. “But you have to promise that if it’s ever too much, you’ll tell me.”

“And if there’s something you need, you’ll ask me.”

Armie thought that conversation had settled things. Apparently, he had been wrong.

It started when Tim asked when Armie was going in to work and Armie said he had taken the day off. Tim wanted Armie to go in, not to disrupt his schedule any further. Armie had told him it was already arranged, and Tim had rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like _stubborn asshole._

When they went down to the cell carrier in Porter Square, Tim’s mood went from mildly irritated to full-on pissed. All Armie had done was overrule Tim’s attempt to pay the bill with the only cash he had to his name.

It wasn’t even enough to cover the outstanding charges, so Armie would have had to kick in something anyway. He didn’t see why it was such a big deal. In any event, Tim was lucky they hadn’t turned the account over to collections yet and he _could_ still pay off the account and reinstate it.

Okay; so maybe he had also set it up so that Tim’s line was now connected to his account. But that was temporary and made financial sense. They had the same carrier, and it was cheaper to add a line to his account than for him to pay two separate accounts. Assuming that he’d continue to pay for it for a while, which he fully intended to do.

Armie tried to decide if he should go after Tim or let him stew for a while, but mere seconds after the door slammed, it opened again and Tim came charging out.

“What you don’t seem to get,” snapped Tim, “is how humiliating this is for me. And every time you ignore me and steamroll over me and swoop in to just take care of something, it makes me feel like...like...an incompetent child.”

“I don’t think that—“ Armie began.

“I’m not telling you what you think. I’m telling you how. I. Feel.” Tim punctuated each word with a finger jab at Armie’s chest. “But you’re not listening.”

“All right,” said Armie. “I’m listening. Can we _talk_ about this instead of—“

“I am talking,” said Tim, throwing up his hands. “I’m talking. I talked this morning. I talked at the store. You just keep brushing me off. And every time you do, it makes me feel worse.”

“I’m not trying to—“

“That doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what you’re _trying_ to do. I’m telling you what you’re _doing_. And the worst part of it is, I know I shouldn’t even be upset, because then it seems like I’m ungrateful, and then I’m an asshole, because you’re doing all this stuff. And that’s all I can do, really, is be grateful, because it’s not like I have another option. You can do whatever you want, and I’m stuck, aren’t I?  It’s not like I can go back to...to…”

Armie became alarmed as Tim’s face grew flushed and his voice started to break, his chest heaving. _Shit,_ he wasn’t just angry, he was panicking. Armie held out a hand, palm out, fingers splayed, and took a small step forward.

“Tim, stop. Please. Just breathe.”

Tim squeezed his eyes shut, curled his hands into fists. Armie took another step forward until he could reach Tim. He gently placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder, and when Tim didn’t pull away, he slid it up his neck to cup his cheek.

“Okay,” Armie said, as gently as possible. “I hear you. I do. Can we _please_ just sit down and talk about this? If you really want to pay me back for the phone thing, you can. If it’s that important to you, I’ll take your money right now.”

Tim opened his eyes. His breathing started to slow. “Really?” he managed.

“Yes. Really. Just give me a chance — two minutes — to present my reasoning first, why I think it’s a better idea to let me give you this, and then it’s totally your decision.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Tim nodded.

“Good.” Armie breathed a sigh of relief. “Living room?”

Tim nodded again. Armie slid his hand back down Tim’s arm and took Tim’s hand. The touch seemed to settle them both, so that even once seated on the sofa, neither let go.

“I do hear what you’re trying to tell me,” said Armie. “I get it. At least, I think I do. I was ignoring the fact that you might be uncomfortable having things handed to you, because maybe it implies that I don’t think you’re capable of taking care of yourself. Is that...close?”

“Yeah,” said Tim. “That’s part of it, at least. And feeling like I have absolutely no control over anything makes _me_ feel like I’m incapable of taking care of myself. I mean, that’s true, I guess. I failed spectacularly at it already. But it also makes me feel...trapped. Like, I have no choice, because I can’t go.”

They sat in silence for a moment. When Armie spoke, it was quiet. “Do you want to go?”

“I…” Tim sighed, staring down at his hands. “It’s not that I don’t want to be here, or that I want to be somewhere else specifically. It’s that there _isn’t_ anywhere for me to go, so it makes me feel...small. The very fact that you had to come get me off the floor of a subway station is bad enough. That was...a true low. But I can’t even get back up because it’s like you want me to...stay down. So you can keep being...better.”

“No,” said Armie, horrified. “God, no. Tim, you’ve been here barely a day and a half. No one — including you — should expect you to be a hundred percent turned around in a day and a half, especially since it took...what, six months?...for you to hit bottom like that.”

Tim frowned. “Okay, that’s a point.”

“What I’m trying to do isn’t from a perspective of keeping you a victim or helpless or some shit. And I absolutely don’t think you’re incapable of taking care of yourself. It’s the opposite. I _admire_ you.”

“You...what?” Tim pulled back and stared at Armie.

“I have so much fucking respect for you. You got dealt a shitty hand all of a sudden, and you did everything you could to make it work. Am I wrong in guessing that the rift with your family was over something that they wanted and you didn’t?”

Tim nodded. “Sort of.”

“So you had another option. You could have given in, and let them bail you out. But you decided to stick to what you wanted, or what you felt was right. And you fought. You managed for longer than most people would have, and your stubborn ass refused to throw in the towel until I forced you to. You’re inspiring.”

“I thought you were mad at me for not asking for help,” said Tim.

“I was. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t impressed at how hard you fought. I was mad because...you scared me. Something could have happened. You could have gotten sick, or mugged, or worse, and that—“ Armie cut himself off and looked away. Thinking about what could have happened to Tim made him sick to his stomach.

“Nothing did happen,” said Tim. His hands were suddenly back in Armie’s. “Nothing happened.”

“It could have.”

They were both quiet for a minute. Finally, Tim spoke. “I don’t understand why...why you care so much,” said Tim. “Why this is so important to you that you’d part with your money and give up your space and rearrange your life, even temporarily. I’m not...I’m nobody.”

Armie shook his head. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. Put yourself in my shoes. The most interesting, genuine, talented person you ever met walks into your life, and you find out they’re in trouble, what would you do? If you were me, and I was you...why would you care?”

_Would you?_ Armie wondered.

Tim rolled his eyes. “That’s different,” he said.

“How?”

Tim blushed, eyes a little wild, as though he had maybe said too much. “Because you’re...I mean, _look_ at you,” he stammered, blushing deeper. “You’re twenty-six, and you own your own bar, and do well enough to live in a place like this. And when we talk...and you genuinely appreciate what I’m doing with my music...and you’re nice to people because you’ve got this stupid big heart to go along with your giant body…” Tim took a breath, let it out. “Okay. If you were in trouble, I would do just about anything to get you out. Shit, I sound like an obsessed stalker.”

Armie’s heart soared. He _knew_ it wasn’t just him. Tim cared about him, too.

“Why is it so hard for you to believe, then, that I feel that way about you? From day one, Tim. The first second we met, I felt it. Some kind of...connection. At one point in my life I was all alone in this city, working myself to the bone to survive. I could have run back home when it got hard, and I didn't do that either. I had people help me out of tight spots along the way. I was luckier than you with some things, but...we’re not that different, and that connection…it’s what led me to you yesterday morning. Even this, even when you’re yelling at me and poking me...it feels like just one part of some big, long story.”

Tim blinked, and then smiled. “Mind if I work that into some lyrics? That was sort of beautiful.”

Armie smiled back. “Use anything you want. It’s all yours.” He sighed. “Listen. I want to give you things and do things for you not because I think you _can’t,_ but because you’ve been fighting so hard I want to give you a break. Tag me in, let me fight a few rounds, and then you can jump back in and actually _win,_ rather than just running out the clock. I want to see you win.”

“Maybe _you_ should write the lyrics,” said Tim.

“So. Now that you believe me when I tell you what I’m trying to do and why...here’s my case for why you should let me pay for the phone. And any other large expenses in the immediate future.”

Tim dragged his teeth against his lower lip, little white spots turning a deep red as he released it. “But if I still want to give you the cash, you’ll take it?”

“Scout’s honor, I swear to god,” said Armie.

Tim nodded. “Make your case. I’m listening.”

“If you give me your money now, what happens if, tomorrow or the next day, you need something?”

“Like what?” asked Tim.

“I don’t know. Money for a Charlie Card, so you can get to a gig or a job. A new razor. Shoelaces.” Armie watched Tim, saw him taking in the suggestion. “So you need something, but you’ve given me all your cash. What are you going to do?”

Tim chewed on his bottom lip. “You said I could ask you if I needed something.”

“Yes. And you can. I want you to. But if you have the cash that you keep trying to give me, then you won’t have to. Instead of you needing to ask me for a hundred little things, I’m giving you a big thing. So that you’ll be more able to do what you want without feeling so tied to me.”

Armie hoped he was making sense. He could see that Tim was considering what he had said, so he waited.

“I suppose that’s not...the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Tim said, finally, with a wry smile.

“The thing is,” said Armie, “it’s basically impossible to start with nothing. You need cash to make more cash, right? That’s why you were having so much trouble before. You couldn’t afford a place to live, so that instability made it tough to have a job that would get you money so that you could afford a place to live. So what I’m offering you is a little startup capital, in the form of basic necessities. Think about it like this: I’m making an investment. I’m investing in Timothée Chalamet, because I think the investment is worth it.”

Tim took a deep breath. “Okay, you win,” he said. “You can pay for the damned phone, and I won’t try to pay you back.” Armie beamed. He must have looked ridiculous, because Tim burst out laughing. “Jesus, you look like you just won the lottery,” he said.

“I feel like I did,” said Armie.

“One condition, though,” said Tim.

“Name it.”

Tim smiled, and spoke gently. “You can’t keep making decisions without consulting me. This, what we just did here? That’s okay. You told me what you wanted, listened to what I wanted, and we talked about it. In the end, it’s my choice.”

“Of course,” said Armie.

“Right, but earlier, you didn’t listen. We didn’t talk. Last night, with the guitar, and today at the store. You just decided. I think you had decided before we even got there.” When Armie looked away, Tim chuckled. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” said Armie. “You’re right.” He paused, and frowned. Tim had a really good point, had even called him on it, and he had just kept going. It had almost felt like he _had_ to keep going, or risk...he shook his head to clear it. “You’re right about all of it. I think I was going a little crazy, since you had refused all of my offers of assistance and were clearly in trouble. So I...decided to just do rather than ask, so that you couldn’t say no when you clearly needed help. But I’ll try to stop.”

“That’s fair,” said Tim. “I can be stubborn, too.”

“Now...I happen to have the rest of the day off, and I have a very important question: do you think you have what it takes to beat me at Mario Kart?”

Tim laughed. “Bring it on, old man,” he said. “I will drive circles around you.”

The next day, Armie decided to go into the pub for a while in the morning to make up for taking two days off. Tim insisted on coming with him.

“Just give me some jobs,” he said. “It’s my fault you were out, I want to help you catch up. Let _me_ do _this_ for _you._ ”

So they went in to work together, knocked out a bunch of tasks — Tim proved to be a whiz at putting orders together for suppliers, which let Armie see to some repairs — and headed home around five-thirty when the evening staff had taken over and the place was beginning to fill. Armie had offered to Nick to stay, since he had been in the past two days already, but Nick wouldn’t hear it and pushed them both out the door, looking pleased and amused.

Armie wasn’t sure what that was all about, but chose not to argue.

When they got home, they were deep in conversation about the merits of adding open mic nights to the _Cor Cordium_ schedule, and so didn’t notice the lights on in Armie’s condo until Armie had unlocked and opened the door.

Armie stopped dead just inside the threshold.

_Oh, shit,_ he had time to think, before a voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Boyfriend? Is that you?”

Armie shot a glance at Tim, who looked suddenly nervous. “Liz,” he whispered. “I didn’t know she was coming over.”

He should have, though, he realized. He had forgotten about her again, and hadn’t called yesterday to make the plans for dinner that she had suggested for that evening.

It drove him crazy that instead of calling or texting him, she had made the passive-aggressive move of just showing up as though that had been the plan all along.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he called back. _Sorry_ , he mouthed to Tim.

Armie took a step toward the kitchen, and Tim reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

“I should go, right?” he asked in a low voice. “She doesn’t...know I’m here. I can go back to the pub.”

Armie actually considered it for a second, then decided firmly against the idea. Liz was going to have to find out Tim was staying there eventually. She may have even spotted that the guest room was occupied. And he didn’t want Tim to feel like this was only his home sometimes. He needed to feel like he had a right to be there, as much as Armie did.

“No,” said Armie. “Stay. Please. It’s fine. This is your place, too.”

Tim looked unsure, but nodded.

“Where are you?” called Liz. “I can’t leave the stove.”

“Just hanging up my coat.” Armie called.

He shrugged out of his coat, and Tim took it from him.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “And follow in a minute.”

Armie nodded. He knew what Tim was doing. He was giving Armie a chance to tell Liz what was going on before he appeared.

He made his way through the dining room and into the kitchen, which was a mess. Liz appeared to have pulled out every cooking device he owned.

“Hi,” he said, coming around to kiss her on the cheek. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” she asked, gesturing around. “I’m making dinner. Crepes.”

She carefully took a curved spatula and flipped a thin crepe on the crepe pan. A short stack of already-made crepes sat on a plate beside the stove, a square of wax paper between each. The sauté pan on the back left burner was filled with sizzling onions, peppers, and mushrooms, and there were two bowls on the counter that contained red and yellow gloop, respectively.

Normally, Armie loved it when Liz made crepes. She didn’t do it often, since it was a multi-step process. It also meant she had probably been at his house for hours while the batter rested. He prickled, knowing she had been whiling away the afternoon here, probably seething that he wasn’t home.

But he shoved that down, because he had been the one to forget about their plans. And because he had lied to her on Saturday.

So he smiled. “I love it when you make crepes,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”

He dipped a pinky into the red gloop and tasted it. Strawberries. Which would make the yellow gloop bananas, probably.

“The occasion is, you’ve been working so hard I wanted to surprise you. I was a little disappointed you weren’t here this afternoon so we could make good use of the time waiting for the batter…”

“I was at the pub,” said Armie. “I had some things to get done.”

“On your day off?” She ladled another portion of batter onto the pan.

“Well. Actually, Nick took over for me this weekend. I had—“

She turned and stared at him. “You weren’t working this weekend?”

“No.” He cringed internally. This was not going to go smoothly, he could tell.

She looked genuinely hurt. “You didn’t tell me. We could have...I could have come over. We could have gone out. We could have gone away.”

“We couldn’t,” said Armie. “I had to take time off, because—“

“Were you sick? Are you still sick?” She peered at him.

“No. I’m trying to explain—“

Her expression changed from hurt and confused, to surprised, to suspicious in the space of a second. That must mean...Armie turned, and sure enough, there was Tim, hovering in the doorway.

“Hi,” Tim said, with what could only be described as a brave smile. “Elizabeth, right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Have we...who are you?”

Armie rolled his eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. She recognized him, he could tell. But she was choosing to be difficult.

“Liz, this is Tim Chalamet. You met him that night after the Library Association Dinner, remember? He was busking at Copley Square.”

“Of course,” she said. “I didn’t recognize you...inside.”

Tim went slightly pale at that comment, and Armie gritted his teeth.

Liz glanced at Armie, accusing questions in her eyes. He decided to just lay it all on the table.

“You know how Tim has been playing at the pub? Well, we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well over the past couple of months, so when his living situation fell through...Tim’s staying here for a while,” he finished. “That’s what I was trying to tell you about this weekend. I was helping him move in.”

It was clear she hadn’t been expecting that. Her eyes widened.

“He’s living...you’re living here? Why?” She directed the question at Tim.

He squirmed a little under her gaze. “Like Armie said, my living situation fell through suddenly. Uninhabitable conditions,” he said. “I asked Armie if he knew of anyone in need of a roommate right away, and he offered me his guest room. Your boyfriend is an amazingly kind person.” This last was aimed at Armie, who smiled back at Tim.

“Just making sure my future superstar can keep packing in the crowds,” he said.

“Hmm.” Liz transferred another crepe to the stack. “He is kind, that’s for sure.” She turned to Armie. “Of course, he won’t let _me_ live with him. Maybe I should learn how to play the guitar.”

“Come on, babe. You know that’s not true.” He glanced at Tim. “She doesn’t want to live with me. I've asked.”

Tim looked surprised at that, but all he said was, “Where did you learn to make crepes, Elizabeth? They look fantastic.”

Liz shot him a pleased yet surprised smile. “I lived in Paris for a year in high school. An exchange program. My host family’s housekeeper showed me. Where have you had crepes before?”

“At home,” he said. “My dad is originally from France,” Tim explained, “and I spent a bit of time there growing up. So my mom made crepes as a meal fairly regularly.”

Armie fastened on Tim at that. Every tidbit of information about Tim seemed like the most essential nutrition to Armie, and he was probably staring too intensely. He schooled his features into what he hoped was something more reasonable.

“Really.”  Liz was looking at Tim appraisingly. “Parlez-vous Français?”

“Oui. Mais...pas aussi bien que ma famille. Je n’ai pas autant d’occasion de le parler.”

_Dear god,_ thought Armie. In French, Tim’s voice was silkier, smoother, pitched slightly lower than normal. He once again tried to remember not to stare too intensely.

“Hmm,” she said. “J’ai peur d’avoir beaucoup oublié moi-même.”

“It doesn’t sound to me like you’ve forgotten much,” said Tim. “If you want to practice...it’s nice to speak it sometimes. I wouldn’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t mind either,” said Liz. “It’s been a while, but...ça me manque.”

Armie couldn’t help but grin at Tim. Liz was being...Liz. She had challenged him on the authenticity of his French background and he had managed to deflect and charm her anyway. This kid continued to impress him.

Tim gestured at the dinner fixings, and said, “I should let you guys get to your dinner. I’ll just...be in my room and stay out of your way.”

“What?” said Armie. “Absolutely not. There’s plenty, right babe?” He moved to stand behind her and rested his hands on her hips as she spooned the last of the batter onto the pan. “We can’t eat all this, and you need dinner too.”

“But I can eat later, if you two want to be alone,” he said. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” said Armie firmly. “Come on, let’s set the table while she finishes up.”

Liz had looked like she wanted to say something, but she simply smiled. A little tightly, but she smiled.

During dinner, Liz took over the conversation and turned it into an interrogation. She wanted to know about Tim’s background, his music, his plans. When she pressed about what his living situation had been and why he needed to move so suddenly, Armie tried to jump in.

“Liz,” he said, a warning in his voice. “He doesn’t have to talk about that. I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant.”

Armie felt a pressure on the side of his foot and glanced over at Tim. Tim was looking down at his plate, but the pressure increased. Tim was nudging Armie’s foot with his own.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I was at school until last spring. Berklee. But my tuition didn’t materialize for my final year — my family’s financial situation changed — so I’ve been trying to figure out how to make things work so I can re-apply for a new financial aid package and finish sometime in the future. In order to save money, I made some questionable living choices. It’s kind of my own fault, and I knew my situation was unreliable, but...I didn’t have much choice.”

Armie listened to him speak, realizing he was mostly telling the truth.

“I didn’t know you wanted to go back to school,” he said.

“Yeah. I’d like to finish. Get the degree. I know I don’t technically need it, but...I worked hard to get there and it’s...important to me.”

“Then...fuck, Tim. You should have said. We can make that a priority.” Armie forgot Liz was there for a second. “Never mind modest plans to stabilize...you want to go back to Berklee we can make that happen.”

_He_ could make that happen. He had gotten access to the second tier of his trust a year earlier and hadn’t touched it. He could easily pay the kid’s final year of tuition; it wouldn’t make a dent. And he was pissed he hadn't thought of it already. Of course Tim would want to go back to school. His mind went to how quickly he could call his money guy and set it up. Tim could possibly be back in school in January. And he could just stay with Armie until he was done. That would give them a less open-ended arrangement, like Tim wanted, but would ensure he stayed for a while...like Armie wanted.

“Armie,” said Tim sharply. Tim’s tone pulled Armie out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“Don’t even think about it, man.” Tim kicked his foot under the table.

“About what?” Armie hedged, fastening his eyes on his plate.

“About what you’re thinking about. Remember the whole thing yesterday? Are we going to have to have that conversation again?”

Liz was watching their exchange like a hawk, her eyes darting back and forth, the food forgotten on her plate.

“What conversation?” she asked, as Armie tried to look as casual as possible.

Tim turned to her and smiled. “He likes to swoop in and do things that he thinks are best without consulting the person who is most affected,” he said.

She let out a laugh. “Oh, honey, you don’t know the half of it. He’s stubborn about it, too. Once he has an idea in his head...forget about changing it.”

Tim snickered. “Stubborn may have been a word I used a time or two this weekend.”

“Okay,” Armie broke in. “Are we done criticizing me now? I’m ready for dessert.”

He felt pressure on his foot again, and this time when he looked up, Tim was eyeing him, as if to make sure he hadn’t overstepped. Armie smiled, and Tim’s features relaxed into an answering grin.

After dinner, they cleaned up the kitchen and then watched television for a while, Tim in the armchair and Liz snuggled up on the sofa with Armie, until Tim started to yawn.

“Time for bed?” asked Armie.

“For me, at least,” said Tim, standing. “Elizabeth, thanks for dinner. It really brought me back to my childhood.”

“De rien,” said Liz. “It was nice to see you again.”

Once he had left and the door to the guest room was closed, Liz turned her face to Armie and kissed him.

“What about you?” he asked. “Time for you to go home? Or are you staying tonight?”

She kissed him again, more deeply, then shifted, their mouths still connected, until she was straddling him.

He pulled back slightly, but she followed him, deepening the kiss still further. She moved her hips down until they were pressed together, and began to rock in little movements.

Normally, this would send shocks of pleasure through him and he’d respond by gripping her hips and encouraging the movement.

Now, he gripped her hips and pushed her away.

When she broke the kiss to ask what he was doing, he turned his head to the side.

“Babe, not here,” he said.

She leaned in and peppered the side of his face with light kisses. “Why not?”

“Because...we’re not alone.”

“I don’t see anyone else, do you?” When she couldn’t break his grip to get closer, she changed tactics, dropping her hands to his belt.

“Liz. Stop,” he said, letting go of her hips to catch her hands in his before she could release his belt. “Tim’s right down the hall.”

“Behind a closed door. He went to bed.”

“He could hear us.” Armie protested.

“So?” She ducked her head and ran her tongue along the base of his neck. “Since when are you such a prude?”

“Come on. If you’re staying, let’s at least go upstairs.”  He wiggled out from under her and stood, straightening his clothes before holding out a hand.

She didn’t take it. “We’ve fucked on this couch plenty of times,” she said.

“Yes, but during none of those times was Tim in the room down the hall. He could come back out. See us.”

“Twice, Nick was in that guest room,” she said. “When I said we should go upstairs, you said the possibility of getting caught made you come harder.”  She raised an eyebrow at him. “This is different how, exactly?”

“It just...I’m not comfortable with the possibility of him seeing us. Please, just come upstairs.”

She studied him a minute, and then rose, ignoring his still-proffered hand. He watched her go to the stairs, where she paused and looked over her shoulder.

“Coming?” she asked.

He nodded and followed.

Upstairs, he thought she might jump on him again, but instead she began undressing calmly. He watched her pull her hair down and run a brush through it before he retrieved his pajamas and took them into the bathroom.

When he opened the door, she had changed as well, and moved past him to take her turn at the sink. He knew from experience this could take a while, so he slid into bed and picked up a book from the nightstand.

After a couple of minutes, she called out from the bathroom. “Set the alarm for five. I have an early meeting tomorrow, since I took the afternoon off.”

He hesitated before replying. “I didn’t ask you to take the afternoon off,” he said.

“I never said you did.” She poked her head out and smiled. “I wanted to surprise you.”

He decided to take that at face value. “You did,” he said. “And I loved it. Thank you.”

She disappeared back into the bathroom. While he was setting the alarm on his phone, she spoke up again, her voice distorted, as though she were speaking with her mouth open. Applying one of her cleansers or moisturizers, no doubt.

“Tim seems nice,” she said, her tone light.

He waited.

“But…” _Here it comes,_ he thought. “What do you really know about him?”

“You asked me that before. The first time you met. I know more now than I did then, and it’s all positive.” He set the book aside, knowing that he wasn’t going to get back to it.

“It just seems...like maybe the innocent thing is too innocent. Like it’s an act, and he’s after something. You know? He has an agenda.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Well, think about it. He somehow got you to hire him — a total unknown, which you guys don’t do — and then immediately give him a regular spot, which most acts have to wait months for. You _created_ a new show for him. Two, in fact. And now he’s living here...and he wants you to pay for his schooling….”

“Hang on,” said Armie. “He didn’t say anything about school. I didn’t even know he wanted to go back until tonight.”

“He did say something,” she said. “He said it tonight. Only he said it in a way that let you get the idea to pay the tuition — I know that’s what you were thinking about — and think it was your idea, then protested. It’s masterful manipulation.”

The water turned on, masking his muttered, “You would know.”

When the water turned off a minute later, he raised his voice and said, “Tim’s not manipulating anyone. He’s a good kid, with a ton of talent, in a tough spot. You’re always saying to find ways to help people that also benefits you, right? Well, if I want Tim to keep increasing my business, then I need to make sure he has what he needs to succeed. Right?”

Liz emerged from the bathroom, looking freshly scrubbed. She turned off the light and climbed into bed.

“Maybe,” she said. “I just find it fishy. You’ve got all this cash, and I worry someone will take advantage of your kindness.”

Armie thought about how Tim fought his offers every step of the way, and would likely continue to do so.  

“He doesn’t know about the money,” said Armie quietly.

She sighed. “You’d be surprised what people can find out when they have the motivation,” she said. “You may be right. He may be just a good kid who needs a boost. But I worry about you. Promise me you’ll keep your eyes open.”

“Fine,” he said. “But I can tell you right now, Tim is exactly what he seems.”

He snapped off the light, and they slid beneath the covers. She snuggled against him and began to run her hands along his body. He stilled her hands with his own.

“Not tonight,” he said.

“You’re kidding, right?” she asked.

“I’m just...exhausted.” He rolled toward her, trapping her in his arms. “Let’s just sleep.”

“If that's what you want,” she mumbled. She twisted around so that her back was to him, and he placed a kiss in her hair.

It reminded him of the kiss he had dropped on Tim’s head on Saturday. Thinking about that moment, and this one, side by side, made him feel cold from head to toe.

He closed his eyes and tried to will the feeling away. In the end, he only thing that would banish it was the memory of watching crappy movies with Tim on Saturday, giggling and jostling and settling into each other. That, and trying to figure out how he was going to convince Tim to let him pay for his last year of college.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new normal...and something extraordinary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's National Novel Writing Month, kids. I've decided to make this fic my NaNoWriMo project. Fun for you, fun for me, and I can justify spending lots of hours generating words about these two boys.
> 
> We're at about the halfway mark here, but...this tale is a long way from over.
> 
> Once more, in case it wasn't clear before: 100% fiction, especially in the case of characters whom you may want to strangle.
> 
> Oh, and I again apologize for the state of my French.

**Chapter 9**

As the week went on, Armie and Tim established a routine. Armie would wake up and make breakfast while Tim showered. On his own, he would normally have a bowl of cereal, but Tim seemed to really like his omelettes, so...he kept making them. He started experimenting with different ingredients, trying to make something different every day. They would eat together. Then, Armie would get ready for work while Tim cleaned the kitchen.

After breakfast, they’d leave for the pub, and once there, they’d tackle the various tasks that needed doing. Before Tim, Armie would deal with everything in the morning himself while the kitchen staff prepped for the day. He enjoyed the quiet, being there practically alone, able to sort through his thoughts.

Now...it wasn’t always quiet. Sometimes it was, as they worked side by side, content to just focus on whatever job was at hand. Other times, Armie was teaching Tim how to do something — change out a keg, or review the inventory, or repair the dishwasher — and the conversation centered around the job, with Tim asking questions and Armie offering instruction and praise. Sometimes, they’d talk while they worked on some mindless thing, topics ranging from politics to literature to their childhoods.

Then, in what were becoming Armie’s favorite moments, sometimes Tim would pull out his guitar and experiment, working on new songs and refining old ones. Armie would have to remember to keep his mind on his work, because it was too easy to lose himself watching Tim work, his forehead wrinkling and his tongue peeking between his lips in concentration.

There were other things, too, that made Armie...think.

On Tuesday morning, Armie saw that Tim kept glancing at his phone. He’d pull it out, look at it, then put it away. This seemed to happen every ten minutes or so. Finally, Armie asked what was going on.

“Oh,” said Tim. He looked embarrassed. “I have to make a phone call that I’ve been putting off, and it kind of...I decided to do it today, but I’m avoiding it.”

“Anything I can help with?” Armie asked.

“No, probably not.” Tim shrugged. “I should just get it over with.” He glanced toward the kitchens. “You mind if I do it now?”

“Be my guest,” said Armie. He watched Tim stride out of the main room and into the back hallway, and returned to changing out a keg. When he had finished changing the lines and had deposited them to be washed and sterilized, he realized that Tim had been gone a while and decided to investigate. He had seemed on edge about the call, and Armie wanted to make sure he wasn’t sitting somewhere, upset.

Tim wasn’t anywhere inside, so Armie donned his coat and pushed open the back door. Tim was pacing the small alley, running his hand repeatedly through his hair, and speaking heatedly into his phone. He glanced up when Armie leaned outside, nodded at Armie, and kept talking.

In French. Armie steeled himself, knowing how he had reacted to that last time.

Figuring Tim would have made a gesture for him to leave if he wasn’t okay with him hearing, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. He didn’t understand a single word Tim was saying, and it didn’t matter. He swallowed, trying to tamp down the odd feelings that were happening in his stomach.

“Parce que tu l’aurais dit à Papa,” Tim was saying. “Oh, tais-toi, Pauline. Je te le dis maintenant.”

Armie caught the word “papa” and thought that Tim was talking about his father. He was also clearly irritated.

“Oui. Je vais bien.” Tim paused. “Avec un ami…. No, screw you. Not a fuck buddy. He’s a friend. Yes, I’m sure. Il est hétéro, et il a une petite-ami. Merde, you’re so fucking annoying. Tous n’est pas sexuel.”

Armie took a step back and leaned against the door. He was pretty sure Tim was talking about him now. And whoever Tim was talking to was assuming that Tim was sleeping with him. Which maybe meant that Armie was right, and Tim was gay.

Which didn’t matter. At all. Even though thinking about that was...stirring things that had long been dormant inside him.

Tim rolled his eyes, and then sighed. “He’s standing right here, actually,” he said. He looked at Armie, and placed his thumb over the sound receiver. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Who are you talking to?” Armie asked.

“My sister,” Tim said. “She...worries about me.”

Armie frowned. “I thought you didn’t talk to your family.”

Tim shrugged, tracing a crack in the pavement with the toe of his boot. “Just my parents,” he said. “I still talk to my sister sometimes. Will you talk to her, so she knows you’re not a serial killer?”

Armie nodded and held out his hand for the phone.

“Hello?” he said.

“Bonjour,” said a musical voice. “What’s your name?”

“Armie,” said Armie.

“Hi, Armie, I’m Pauline. I’m Timmy’s sister. You have a last name, Armie?” Although the sound of her voice was pleasant, her tone contained a challenge.

“Hammer,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She laughed. “Sure, sure. Okay, Armie, I’m going to need your address.”

“Why?” he asked.

“So that I know where my baby brother is living. You can go ahead, I have something to write with.” She paused, then added, “I’m forward. Humor me.”

He smiled. She was interesting, that was for sure. And protective, which he couldn’t really argue with. He gave her his address. Tim raised his eyebrows, and Armie shrugged.

“Now, your phone number,” said Pauline.

Armie rattled off his cell number. “Feel better?” he asked.

“A bit,” she said. “Tim tells me that he’s staying with you for a while. You good with that?”

“I am,” he replied. “For as long as he needs to.”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

The bluntness of the question took Armie by surprise, and he stuttered his answer. “N-no. No, I’m not.”

Pauline wasn’t finished. “Do you want to?”

Armie’s mouth went dry. “I...I have a girlfriend,” he said.

“Hmm.” Pauline was quiet for a moment. “So he said.”

“Listen,” said Armie. “Tim and I are friends. He was in a bad spot, and is finally letting me help him out. He can stay with me as long as he needs to, and he knows that. I swear I’m...not a serial killer.”

Tim snickered, and Armie smiled at him.

“Okay,” said Pauline. “Here’s the deal, Armie Hammer. I now know who you are, and where you live. If you screw him over, I will hunt you down. Got it?”

Armie stilled. Pauline’s tone was light now, but conveyed a real threat. She meant what she said. Good thing Armie had no intention of screwing Tim over.

“Got it,” he said. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Oh, he can take care of himself,” she said. “Though it would be nice if he had some decent backup. Just...he’s been hurt before, in a similar situation. And I don’t want it to happen again.”

Armie wondered what she meant by that. How had Tim been hurt? By a boyfriend? A friend?

“It won’t,” said Armie. “You have my word.”

There was a pause. “Okay, Armie. I’ll take that, for now. But I might schedule a surprise visit. Be on your toes.”

He chuckled. “Will do,” he said.

“Put my brother back on. It was nice chatting with you.”

“You too,” said Armie. He handed the phone back to Tim, and was now biting his lip in that way that made Armie want to grab it between his fingers.

“Jesus, Pauline, you didn’t have to give him the third degree,” said Tim into the phone. Then his voice softened. “Oui, je sais. Je sais. I love you, too. Just...don’t tell them you talked to me, okay?” Another pause. “Je m’en fiche. I _don’t_. Oui, vous aussi.”

He hung up the phone and turned to Armie. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“She’s...nice,” said Armie.

Tim giggled. “That’s one word for it.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offered it to Armie. They lit up and leaned against the wall, side by side.

Armie said, “She asked me if I was sleeping with you.”

Tim paused with his cigarette halfway to his mouth. He let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. She...is annoying that way. I told her we weren’t. That you were straight.”

“You’re not?” asked Armie. Then he grimaced. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

“I’m not,” said Tim. “I don’t mind if you know, just...is that a problem?”

“Of course it’s not a problem,” said Armie. He hesitated, and then said, “I’m not either.”

“You’re...not straight?” asked Tim. He had turned to Armie, eyes wide.

“No. I mean, it’s been a long time since I’ve dated a guy, or even been interested in one. I’ve been with Liz forever. But...no. I’m not straight.”

“Huh.” Tim took a drag from his cigarette. “Do you...so you’ve dated men before?”

Armie nodded. “A couple of times,” he said. “I’ve always generally been attracted to women more often than men, but...it has happened.” He glanced sideways at Tim. “You seem surprised.”

“I just thought -- because of Liz. That’s all.”

They stood in silence for a while. He wondered if it was his imagination, or if Tim seemed even more on edge than earlier. Armie thought back over the conversation, and Tim’s reluctance to make the call in the first place, looking for the cause. “She didn’t know you were homeless?” he guessed.

“No, she didn’t know. But now that I’m...that I’m with you, I wanted her to know. I’d been avoiding her calls for the past few weeks, and she was getting ready to send in the National Guard to look for me, or fly back from Paris herself to start a search party.” He shrugged.

“She might still,” said Armie. “I don’t think she trusts me.”

Tim tilted his head to the side. “She doesn’t trust anyone, really,” he said, with a fondness to his voice. “The opposite of me. I trust too easily.”

“Speaking of which,” said Armie. “She mentioned that you’ve been hurt in this situation before.”

“Damn it, Pauline,” muttered Tim. He sighed. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Was it a guy?”

Tim nodded.

“Were you living with him? Did he--”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” said Tim. “I’m here, I’m fine. No permanent damage.” He smiled reassuringly, and Armie smiled back.

“Well, fuck that guy,” said Armie.

Tim laughed, and shot him a warm look.

A particularly stiff wind blew, causing their cigarettes to flare. “Let’s finish up and head in,” Armie said, “and I’ll show you how to clean the soda guns.”

On Wednesday, Armie dragged Tim out the front door in the middle of the afternoon lull. He ignored Tim’s questions, simply led him to the storefront of the defunct juice bar next door, where he produced a key out of his pocket and grinned.

“Realtor dropped it off this morning,” he explained.

Tim looked at him quizzically. Armie unlocked the door and held it open, gesturing for Tim to enter.

Once inside, Armie found the lights and they were suddenly in the middle of a bright room, with neon green and yellow walls that sort of hurt your eyes.

“What do you think?” asked Armie, sweeping his arms wide.

“I think...that that is the most hideous color green I have ever seen.” He peered around. “What is this place? Why are we here?”

“Well…” Armie strode forward, looking around himself. “This place went out of business shortly after you started singing for me. I had been thinking about maybe expanding _Cor Cordium_ , and had my eye on it. Now that it’s available…”

“Oh,” said Tim. “You mean you’d buy this place and make a bigger pub?”

“Lease at first,” said Armie. “The building isn’t for sale. Yet. But it’s a possibility for the future.”

“It’s the wrong color,” said Tim. “And it’s filled with stainless steel juicing machines.”

“I’d renovate,” said Armie.

“I know,” said Tim. “I’m just kidding.”

He began to wander around the space. Armie watched him, gauging his reaction. It wasn’t huge, but would definitely add substantial real estate to the _Cor Cordium_ capacity. When he reached the wall that the two places shared, he touched it and turned around.

“So you would...what? Knock this down?”

“Yes,” said Armie. “And put in a retractable, soundproof partition. I was thinking I’d like the ability to keep the spaces separate, but also to make it into one big room.”

“What would you do with it separately?” asked Tim.

Armie grinned. “Concert venue slash performance space,” he said.

Tim’s eyes widened. “Woah,” he said. “That’s...a big step.”

“Is it? I feel like we’ve been headed that way for a while. I like the live music in the pub, but watching you perform -- and watching the customers behave -- like you’re giving a concert made me realize I wanted to have more of that.”

It was true. When Armie opened _Cor Cordium,_ he had always had a vision of it being the sort of pub where people could relax and listen to local artists. That had happened. This was just the next natural progression.

Tim blushed. “Thanks,” he said. “Hey, you’ve got the big show on Friday, right?”

“Yeah.” They had booked three popular bands, more popular than their usual acts, to play a concert-style show on Friday night. It had been Nick’s idea, but Armie saw it as a sort of test run for the future.

He reached out and grabbed Tim’s hand, pulling him back to the front of the store so they could look at the entire space at once. “Think about this,” he said. He closed his eyes a moment. “We put a second bar along that wall. We tear out this counter area, open up that space all the way to the back, since we’ll share the kitchen _Cor Cordium_ already has. The stage goes back there, with an actual backstage. We’d redo the interior to match the pub, pull down the drywall and exposed the brick, but we’d intensify it a little, play with the lighting and make it look like one of those underground clubs. Picture it. It’s a Friday night. We’ve booked a band and sold tickets.”

He gestured to the doors to the street behind him. “You can come in through there, or you can have dinner in the pub first and then enter through the VIP entrance with bonus drink tickets. The concert happens in here, with drink service. Meanwhile, we can still have local acts in the pub. Then, when the concert is over, we retract the partition so that the concertgoers can stay at the pub.”

He glanced at Tim, suddenly nervous. Tim was frowning, and Armie’s stomach dropped. Maybe it was all stupid.

Then Tim licked his lips, and said, “What about weeknights? You don’t really need this extra space in the pub on a Tuesday, and you’re not going to have a concert then.”

Armie shrugged. “We could close it off, or open it for space and just have the one bar operating.”

“Or,” said Tim, “you could rent it out to local acts. Ones that want to hold a concert, take the risk on the sales.”

“Hmm,” said Armie. “A private performance space. Would we take a percentage of the door?”

Tim shrugged. “Or charge a flat fee, put in tables, and have food and drink service.” He cocked his head to the side. “You could rent it out for functions, too, and provide a list of local artists for organizations to hire.”

Armie stared at Tim. “And open mic nights,” he said. “I know you believe in those. We could host a couple a month, or one a week, even.”

Tim nodded, and then spoke softly. “There’s this place in Nashville that also allows acts to come audition in the morning to play in the evening, rather than booking everything in advance. It’s like...a great way to open things up to lots of new performers.”

Armie stared harder. “I love that,” he said. Then he cleared his throat. “I’d need someone to run the space.”

“Yeah,” said Tim. “I’m sure you could get someone.”

“Sure,” said Armie. “Someone.”

The nights were good, too. On Tuesday, Armie was working, and Tim began pitching in without being asked, bussing tables and running food and drinks. After close, they walked home side by side, discussing the day.

On Wednesday, Tim played, and Armie made him chill the way he had when all he came to _Cor Cordium_ for was a gig. He only let him help out again after close.

On Thursday, Armie wasn’t scheduled to work in the evening, so they made dinner and sketched out plans for Tim’s next steps — including calling the other bar owners about the offered gigs — and then settled in for a movie and some mindless television.

That brought them to Friday. On Friday morning, Armie processed the payroll and printed the checks. When he was done, he found Tim restocking glasses in the bar.

“Here,” he said, holding out an envelope.

Tim squinted at it. “What’s this?” he asked. “Armie, did you write me a love letter? You shouldn’t have, you can always just tell me how you feel.”

He snickered, and Armie felt a blush rising. He cleared his throat. “Just take it,” he said.

Tim set the tray of glasses on the counter and took the envelope. He opened it and peered inside, and his mouth dropped.

“What the hell is this?” he asked.

Armie shrugged. “Your paycheck,” he said. “I know it’s not much, and it’s only for half a week, but since we haven’t actually defined your job, I gave you something a little more than I pay the busboys and a little less than I pay the line cooks. But we can talk about what direction you want to go. Maybe get a bartending license, and then assistant manager? It’s up to you.”

Tim stared at Armie, open-mouthed, during his speech. When Armie had stopped talking, he closed his mouth and opened it several times before pursing his lips and shoving the envelope at Armie’s chest.

“Shit,” muttered Armie, as Tim stalked towards the kitchens.

He stuffed the envelope in his pocket and followed, and found Tim in the alley, flicking his lighter over and over, only to have it extinguished by the wind before he could get his cigarette lit.

Armie stepped close and cupped his hands around Tim’s, providing the extra shelter from the wind. Tim’s eyes flickered to Armie for a second, and then he refocused on his task and managed the light.

He took a harsh drag and blew it out, then wordlessly dug his pack out of his pocket, holding it out to Armie. Armie pulled out a cigarette, and Tim plucked it out of his fingers, using his own cigarette to light it before handing it back to Armie.

“So,” said Armie, leaning up against the brick wall. “Want to tell me how I fucked up this time?”

Tim scuffed his foot on the ground, scattering pebbles across the asphalt. Armie closed his eyes, trying to stem the hopeless feeling he seemed to get anytime he managed to do something to upset Tim. He felt like he was constantly screwing things up, when all he wanted to do was make the kid happy.

Finally, after what seemed to be endless minutes, Tim spoke.

“You didn’t,” he said. “Fuck up, I mean.”

“Oh.” Armie frowned. “The way you stormed out suggested otherwise.”

Tim sighed. “I know. That wasn’t...I don’t know what that was. I just...I get so overwhelmed sometimes that I have to get _out_.”

“Overwhelmed by what?” asked Armie. “By this?” He pulled the check out of his pocket. “It’s practically nothing. But you worked for me this week, and so you deserve to be paid. I don’t believe in slave labor.”

“See...I didn’t know I was working.”

“Really? What exactly would you call that? You did inventory, bussed tables, repaired shit…” Armie waved his hands around. “You busted your ass and cut my work practically in half this week.”

Tim shrugged. “I guess...I thought I was pitching in and helping out a friend. Making up for the fact that he had opened his home to me and that I’ve...felt better and happier in the past week than I have in _years._ ”

“Ah.” Armie couldn’t think of what to say to that.

“So it just...surprised me. Because we didn’t talk about it. And it made me feel good to be giving something back to you, in a way that was useful and...yeah. Anyway.” Tim shoved his curls off his forehead. “I’m not mad. I just...it threw me off balance, put a money value on something that feels like it’s worth so much more to me, and for a second I felt like I had been building things up to be something they aren’t.” He lifted his eyes to Armie’s, the green so intense Armie could barely breathe. “I’m not even sure I’m making sense here.”

“You...are. I think,” said Armie, “If what you’re saying is working here felt natural and just a part of...what we do. Like at home. And my handing you a check made it less about us and our friendship and more just...average. Like it was any job.”

“Yes.” Tim nodded. “Yes, exactly. I know I’m supposed to be getting a non-singing job, now that I’m not tied to shelter hours. I just sort of thought I’d take this week to reset and gear up to go apply. I was trying to take it seriously, what you said about not feeling like I had to turn everything around immediately.”

“Good.” Armie couldn’t resist reaching out and ruffling Tim’s hair, and he couldn’t help beaming at the kid. Tim leaned into Armie’s hand so Armie left it buried in Tim’s curls, nestled at the base of his neck. “Seriously. I’m glad you heard that, because I meant it. I’d even have been fine if you sat around the house eating Cheetos and watching daytime television for a few weeks.”

Tim laughed. “Oh god, I can see it now. You’d get home from work to find me upset that Craig cheated on Mindy with Delilah, and that Stefan turned out to be Sandra’s baby daddy.”

“Just so you know,” said Armie, “I pay Nick, too, and we’ve been friends since we were kids. Doesn’t make our partnership here — even though, technically, he’s my employee — any less meaningful. I couldn’t have launched _Cor Cordium_ without him. He’s important to me. Working with him is often fun and always comfortable. Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t get paid, right?”

“That’s true,” said Tim. “Okay, where’s that check? I don’t want to be less important than Nick, after all.”

Armie chuckled. “You know, I was serious about what I said earlier. If you want to work here, there’s a place for you. We’re busier than we’ve ever been, and if I move forward with that expansion I’m going to need extra help. Management-level help.”

Tim blinked at him. “I...let me think about it, okay? Either way, I really appreciate the offer.”

“Okay,” said Armie. He scratched his fingers up into Tim’s hair — the kid had seriously soft hair — and tried to express one more thing. “What you said? About being happier this week than you’ve been in a while?”

Tim tilted his head to the side, glancing cautiously at Armie from beneath his lashes. “Yeah.”

“You’re not alone in that. You being here this week has been...well. Let’s just say that I’ve enjoyed myself more this week than any week in recent memory.”

Tim let out a huff of breath and ducked his head, dislodging Armie’s fingers. Then he looked up, and for a second, Armie could have sworn the world simply stopped on its axis. Everything was silent and still, except the thudding of his own heart and the soft wisps of Tim’s breath.

Then Tim shivered, a whole-body shudder that moved from his head to his toes.

“Cold?” asked Armie, realizing for the first time that they had walked out into the mid-December air without their coats. He often ran hot, but Tim was still so thin.

Without waiting for an answer, he opened his arms and Tim stepped into them. Armie could feel the tension slipping out of the kid’s shoulders as the heat from Armie’s chest seeped into him.

After a minute, Armie said, “Want to go in?”

“Yeah. Or...share another cigarette first?”

“You got it,” said Armie. “Hell, we’ve got time. For some reason, I got my work done early this week.”

They passed it between them silently, Tim still within the circle of Armie’s embrace, until it burned all the way down to the filter.

The peaceful state that their conversation had left them in lasted until that evening. It was a night _Cor Cordium_ had been preparing for for weeks, their biggest night of music yet. The lineup of acts for the evening included three popular local bands, and while Armie still didn’t want to charge a cover, Nick had talked him into selling low-cost guaranteed admission tickets for the night to about half the capacity of the place. The tickets had sold out quickly, so Armie knew they were in for a big evening.

Then, at the last minute, one of the bands canceled; their lead guitarist and drummer had been in a minor car accident and they couldn’t play.  With a little bit of pleading desperation, Armie asked Tim to pinch hit and play a set, offering him double his normal fee.

Tim was excited; this was his first weekend night performance. He was also nervous, because he knew the crowds would be a little rowdier, since the other two acts performing were more rock than he was.

He had recommended, and Armie and the other bands had agreed, to switching the schedule so that he played first, warming things up for the other acts. Still, he knew he would need to kick it up a notch or else he’d be completely out of place. Armie asked him — with more than a little concern — if he’d be okay. Tim had promised that he could handle it, and that he had some tricks up his sleeve that Armie hadn’t yet seen.

Armie saw that, as eight o’clock neared, Tim was getting more and more tightly wound. He knew Tim would step out for a smoke to settle his nerves, and so he kept one eye on the kid as he served drink after drink to thirsty, impatient patrons.

Eventually, Nick leaned over and tapped Armie’s shoulder. He pointed to the back hall.

“There he goes,” said Nick.

Armie looked and saw the mop of dark curls disappearing down the hallway. He glanced at Nick.

“Can you —“

Nick plucked the cocktail shaker out of Armie’s hand. “Go,” he said. “Take care of your boy.”

Armie was halfway to the back door before Nick’s words registered. When they did, they both confused him and left him with a warm, satisfied feeling in his chest, a feeling Armie had come to associate with Tim.

He snagged his jacket, noting that Tim’s was gone from the hooks as well.

Pushing open the back door, he peered into the dim light of the alley. Sure enough, there was Tim, already exhaling a stream of smoke.

He pulled out his own cigarettes as he closed the door behind him. The cold air snapped at his senses, making everything seem a little sharper and clearer.

“Warning: this is a two-cigarette night, and I’m not sharing,” said Tim with a smirk.

“Trying to get your throat raw for a screaming solo?” asked Armie with an answering smirk.

“More like wishing I could hook myself up to a morphine drip for a while, but these little cancer sticks will have to do.” Tim shuffled in place a little, whether from the cold or from his nerves Armie wasn’t sure. Probably both, he decided.

“So tell me what you plan to do,” said Armie.

“What, you don’t trust me?” asked Tim, flattening a hand to his chest in mock betrayal.

“Oh, I do. I’m just unbelievably curious, and I feel like I deserve a little insider knowledge. Come on, Timmy. Make me feel like a special, in-the-know fan.”

Tim pushed away from the wall and began pacing the small alley, moving in and out of the shadows.

“All covers,” he said. “Except...I have a few songs that I’m pretty sure I can intensify. Only I’ve only messed around with them, never actually rehearsed it.”

“Do you think you could pull it off, even without rehearsing?”

Tim paused, took a drag, and then continued pacing. “Yeah. I think so. I’m just trying to decide if I have the balls to try, and where to put them in the set.”

“Timmy T, working without a set list,” said Armie. “Playing with fire.”

Tim stopped. “What did you call me?”

Armie laughed. “Timmy T. I was joking.”

“Hmm.” Tim tilted his head to the side, bounced on his toes. “Use it,” he said. “Introduce me that way.”

“What? Not Timothée Chalamet? Why?”

Tim pinched the ember from his cigarette, stowed the filter in his pocket, and then pulled out another. He lit it and then began pacing again.

“It’s like...an author with a pen name for the stuff they write that’s against type. The literary novelist who writes erotica or whatever. What I’m doing tonight isn’t my usual thing, so...let’s make it different. I’ll be Timmy T.”

Armie laughed, and Tim’s face fell.

“Is it stupid?” he asked.

“No, actually. I think it’s brilliant.” Armie watched as Tim’s pacing picked up speed and he nearly tripped and face planted into the brick wall. “Hey, Speedracer. Slow the fuck down.”

“Sorry,” said Tim. He was practically vibrating, hopping back and forth on his toes. “I’m just….these things don’t seem to be doing the trick tonight.”

“Okay, drop that thing, then, and come here,” said Armie. When Tim merely stopped and looked at him, confused, Armie tried again. “Get over here, come on.”

Tim obeyed, dancing across the dimly lit space until he was standing in front of Armie. Without really knowing what he was going to do, Armie opened his coat, spun Tim around, and pulled him until Tim was standing flush against him, Tim’s back to Armie’s chest. Armie pulled the edges of his coat around Tim’s arms and held him tight, his hands taking up residence on Tim’s chest.

Tim held himself very still for a moment, and then, slowly, relaxed against Armie’s chest. Armie could tell when their breathing synced up, as his chest rose and fell in unison with Tim’s.

He could hear the whoosh of traffic from the street, the clatter of garbage from further down the alley, the occasional shout of someone who was already drunk. But mostly, what he could hear was their heartbeats, Tim’s slightly faster than his own, and their breaths in harmony.

The way they were standing, Armie’s nose was just brushing Tim’s curls on the left side of his head. If he tilted his head down a couple of inches, his lips would hover directly over Tim’s left ear. He liked that idea, so that’s what he did.

“Tim.” Armie’s voice, low and rough, rumbled out of his chest. He could feel the vibrations where they rolled into Tim’s back and out his own chest, though Armie’s hands. Tim made a small noise. “Tim,” Armie said again, “you are going to kill it. You’re going to be spectacular. Because you’re a born superstar. I knew it from the moment you opened your mouth on stage that first night, and I’ve only become more sure the more I’ve seen you play.”

Tim let out a small sigh, and the sound shot straight through Armie’s chest, and lower, settling in his stomach. He tightened his grip.

“And if you’re nervous, or unsure, just look to your right. I’ll be standing right there. I won’t move for the entire set. If you need something to focus on, find me. Because you know I always want to hear you.”

As Armie spoke, his lips brushed the shell of Tim’s ear, and Tim’s breathing stuttered, no longer lined up with Armie’s.

They stood there a long minute, then two, breathing short, shallow breaths. Armie could hear that his own breath was becoming harsher. It was becoming harder to draw in the air. Because of the cold, or because of something...else?

“Tim,” whispered Armie, “you still with me?”

Armie heard a noisy swallow, and then a ragged “Yeah.”

“Want me to let go?” Armie asked. This time, the brush of his lips on Tim’s ear felt deliberate to Armie. Like he had moved even closer, testing the lack of space between them. Had he?

“No,” whispered Tim. “Don’t let go.”

Now Armie rested his lips against Tim’s ear without speaking. He held every other part of his body rigidly still, and then he experimentally moved his head back and forth so that his lips dragged across Tim’s soft skin. Tim shuddered, and Armie was sure it wasn’t from the cold.

Slowly, so slowly it was almost undetectable, Armie closed his lips into a kiss, around the top of Tim’s ear. He heard Tim’s breath catch. Armie did it again, a little lower, and then one more time, each movement punctuated by a small, ragged gasp from the kid beneath him, until he reached Tim’s earlobe.

He snagged the soft flesh between his teeth, applying gentle pressure, and a whimper broke free from Tim’s throat.

Armie felt like he wasn’t present in his body. Like he was watching himself from above, a casual observer or a scientist, taking notes. He knew that what was happening was something dangerous. Dangerous to everything that was set up in his life, dangerous to Tim. He also knew that, at the moment, he didn’t give a shit. He wanted to hear Tim make that noise again. But first he had to say something, check in with Tim, make sure he was okay.

“Tim,” he whispered.

Then the door of the restaurant opened, spilling light and sound into the alley.

“There you are,” said a voice. “Nick said he didn’t know where you two had gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. Don't hit me. Love you all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interruptions, doubts, revelations, angst...and plenty of fluffy fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: I am stunned, speechless (well, clearly not literally), honored, touched, and any other word that describes a state of awed and emotional shock over the response this story is getting. Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading and being so supportive of this little world.
> 
> Second: still 100% fiction.
> 
> Third: there is a playlist at the end. I put it at the end because you may want to be surprised by it as you read. It is directly representative of what is going on in this chapter. I recommend listening to it afterwards, not before, so as to avoid spoilers.
> 
> Fourth: I have reached the end of the polished chapters. That doesn't necessarily have to mean all that much because I actually have time this weekend to write, and the closer to the end I get the more easily I can make sure what I have is right. But if, perchance, the daily updates slow, don't panic. It just means I'm working on it.
> 
> Fifth: Ooh, boy. I am nervously awaiting your reaction to this one.

**Chapter 10**

_ Fuck.  _ The curse echoed in Armie’s brain before he fully registered the rest of the information.  _ What the fuck is she doing here? _

He let go of Tim instantly, and the kid twisted away, bobbing and weaving into the shadows. 

Armie turned his head slowly, feeling as though he was in a daze. Through his misty vision, he saw Liz, silhouetted in the doorway. 

“What are you doing out here?” Liz asked. Armie tried to identify the tone in her voice. Cautious? Curious? Speculative?

Suspicious? 

It was Tim who spoke first. Armie was still trying to clear the thickness from his throat, settle his racing heart. Had it been racing before Liz opened the door, or was this new?

“Pre-show cigarette to get out the jitters,” Tim said, gliding into the light, a cigarette miraculously dangling from his fingers. “A bad habit.”

Where had that come from? Armie wondered. Tim flicked it away, and Armie watched it roll against the wall near his feet. He realized it was just a filter. The one Tim had tucked into his pocket earlier, no doubt, to be properly disposed of, now a convenient prop. 

Armie raised his gaze to Tim. He was still feeling a bit sluggish, but everything sharpened and cleared when he met Tim’s eyes, gazing back at him. They were a little too wide, with a shade of fear to them, not reflecting the wry smile on his lips. 

Liz spoke again, snapping Armie’s attention to her and out of his bubble. 

“A bad habit I’m sure Armie doesn’t discourage,” she said. “Well? Are you coming in? It’s freezing out here.”

“Yeah,” said Armie, knowing his voice was too raw, too shaky. “I think we’re done here.” He forced his gaze back to Tim. “You feeling okay?”

Tim nodded, his movements jerky. “I’m good. I swear.”

Liz backed into the kitchen, and Armie forced his feet to move, to propel him forward. He wanted to tell Liz go inside. Give them a minute. So he could talk to Tim. Say something. Acknowledge … something. 

But what in the ever-loving fuck was he going to say?

So Armie walked to the door, grabbed it from Liz. He held it open, gesturing for Tim to enter. The kid sprang forward and hurried to the door. As he passed through, his eyes locked on Armie’s. Armie tried to communicate everything he was feeling with his eyes:  _ Are you really okay? Did I cross a line? Did I fuck us up? I’m sorry...that I did that, that she’s here, that we can’t talk about it or keep going or…. Are  _ we  _ okay? _

Tim’s eyes darted away from Armie’s, without indicating a response or understanding. Armie watched as he moved away, feeling a chill wash over him that had nothing to do with the frigid air at his back. 

He watched as Tim shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the rack, shoved his hands in his pockets, and fled out of the kitchen towards the main room. 

“He does seem nervous,” said Liz from beside Armie. “Is he always like this?”

Armie blinked, trying to focus on her and not on the Tim-shaped emptiness in the room. 

“No,” he muttered. “Tonight’s...different.” 

“Is he going to screw up the show?” she asked, pursing her lips. “Maybe he doesn’t have to go on.”

“What?” He turned to look at her. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“I’m just saying, you said this was a big night for the pub, that if it goes well you could hold more concert-type events. I don’t want him to have a negative impact on that.” She smiled at him, slid an arm around his waist. “I know that’s important to you.”

He pulled away. “He’s going to be fine,” said Armie. “You know, Tim wasn’t supposed to play tonight. He’s pitching in because one of the other acts got into a car accident. So he’s risking his career as much as anything else by performing outside of his normal genre. To help me out.”

“I just meant--”

Armie couldn’t contain his surge of anger. “Just...you don’t know anything about it. You’ve never seen him perform, other that night outside Copley, and you weren't even -- you know what? You don’t know what he can do, so, maybe keep your opinions to yourself. What are you even doing here?”

He watched seventeen emotions -- irritation, hurt, and anger among them -- flit across her features. Then her face settled into a soft smile. “I wanted to be with you. You always complain that I never come here, and I realized you’re right.” She stepped close and laid a hand on his chest. “I miss you lately, Boyfriend. I never see you anymore. So...if you’re going to work all the time, then I guess my only recourse is to be with you here.”

She leaned up on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his lips. He stiffened involuntarily.

“Why now?” he asked. “I’ve been asking you to spend time here for...years. And it’s been a long, long time since you’ve stepped through my door.”

She sighed. “I was thinking about what you said the other night, about what you want for the pub. And I realized that I could help you get that. I want to help you get that. I mean, your happiness is my happiness, right? Your success is my success. Let me help.”

He watched her carefully. “Let me make sure I understand,” he said. “You want to not just hang out here more, but you want to be a part of the business?”

She nodded, her earrings bouncing and sparkling. “Not officially, or anything. You don’t have to pay me. But I can help with marketing, promotion ideas. I want to know more about what you’re doing. I think…” She looked down, and when she raised her eyes, they were glistening. “I think I’ve been selfish recently. I miss...the way it used to be.”

He missed that too. Or...he had. Did he still?

His mind darted back to the alley. Back to Tim, and the way Tim had gasped under the touch of his lips. It felt so...distant suddenly. Had it even happened? Had he made it out to be more significant than it was? He shook his head.

No. It was significant. What it meant...that was another question entirely, and he didn’t have time to figure it out at that second.

“Okay,” he said. “I want you to be more involved.” He smiled. It was what she would expect. It would mollify her, free him up to deal with the shows and the pub for the night, and he could deal with the rest later.

“Good,” she said. She leaned up to kiss him again, and this time he kissed her back. Quickly, and it had a perfunctory feel, but she seemed to be satisfied.

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Why don’t you go find a seat,” he said. “If you can, it was getting pretty crowded out there. Ask Nick if you need help.”

“Where will you be?” she asked. 

The words he had spoken in Tim’s ear earlier echoed in his head:  _ And if you’re nervous, or unsure, just look to your right. I’ll be standing right there. I won’t move for the entire set. If you need something to focus on, find me. Because you know I always want to hear you. _

“I’ll be by the stage, monitoring,” he said. “You’ll be more comfortable at a table, I’m sure.”

“I’m comfortable with you.” She beamed at him. “Look, I even wore sensible shoes so I could be on my feet.” She lifted a slim ankle, so he could see her leather boots. They had a chunky, two-inch heel.  _ Sensible  _ wasn’t the word he would have used, but they were certainly more sensible than her usual three-inch stilettos.

“If you’re sure,” he said. He let her take his hand, and then he made his way through the back hall and into the main room, which was even more crowded than when he had left it twenty minutes earlier.

Nick was still at the bar, and Armie raised a hand to get his friend’s attention. When he caught Nick’s eye, Nick raised his eyebrows, looking first at Liz beside him and then over at the stage, where Tim was engaged in final set up. There Nick went again, acting strange. He led Liz through the crowd and over to the bar.

“Want something to drink?” he asked her. She nodded, and he shouted to Nick for a martini, pointing to Liz. Nick nodded. “Stay here,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.”

When he reached Nick’s side, Nick was lining up the gin and vermouth and retrieving a martini glass.

“This place is packed,” said Armie.

“Sure is,” said Nick. “And that’s with tickets distributed. You’re never going to believe this, but we’re turning people away. A lot of people.”

Armie’s eyes widened. That almost never happened. They had clearly hit a sweet spot with this line-up. And if they could keep doing that, bringing more and more acts in and develop a reputation for it...he’d have to hire more staff, and taking over the space next door would be a no-brainer.

“So,” said Nick. “Liz is here. Why?”

Armie rolled his eyes, watching Nick shake the drink to chill it. “Who knows. She says she wants to be more involved, because she misses spending time with me.”

Nick eyed him.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Nick. “How’s Tim doing? He ready to rock this place?  _ Can _ he rock this place?”

“I sure hope so,” said Armie. “Honestly, I think he’ll be great. He seems to know what he’s going to do, and he’s so good at reading the crowds.”

“He looked really nervous when he came back.”

_ Yes, but it might not be entirely because of the imminent performance _ , thought Armie. To Nick, he said, “He’ll be okay. We talked it out, calmed him down.”

“Good,” said Nick. “I’m not really worried. That kid is a professional if nothing else, and you seem to have a calming effect on him.”

Something occurred to Armie then. “Hey, when Liz found us, she said you told her you didn’t know where we had gone.”

“Did I?” said Nick, pouring the martini to the rim of the glass. That was going to be a bitch to walk with, but Liz would appreciate the full serving.

“Yes,” pressed Armie. “Why? You knew we would be out back, like usual.”

Nick placed a twist in the martini, and offered it to Armie. He took it, holding it gingerly so as not to spill it.

“I wasn’t sure if you would want her to know. Where you were, I mean. I figured she’d find you eventually, but...thought I’d buy you some time.” Nick glanced away, cleared his throat. “Was I wrong?”

Armie frowned. “Why wouldn’t I want her…” he trailed off. Of course, as it turned out, it wasn’t great that she had walked out to the alley when she had. “Nick,” he asked, carefully, “what do you think is going on?”

Nick raised his hands in the air, palms out. “Look, man, I think whatever you want me to think.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I know nothing unless you want me to.”

They stared at each other. Finally, Armie closed his eyes and rubbed his free hand across his mouth.

“Nick,” he said, “do you think...do you think that something is going on with me and Tim?”

Nick shrugged. “Like I said, I think what you want me to think. I only know what I see, not what it means.”

Armie opened his eyes. “What do you see?”

Nick ran a hand through his hair. “It’s about eight,” he said. “Shouldn’t you go introduce Tim?”

“Nick.” Armie reached out and grabbed Nick’s arm. “What do you  _ see _ ?”

After a pause, Nick spoke, his voice as low as he could make it and still be heard over the canned music.

“I see that kid following you around and looking at you like you hung the moon. Like you’re his reason for being alive.”

A surge of excitement lanced through Armie’s stomach. He swallowed. “And...what else do you see?”

“I see that when you look at him, or talk about him...it’s like you think he was sent down by God himself. Armie…” Nick reached out and patted his friend’s arm. “Dude, you have  _ never _ looked at anyone the way you look at Tim. Not even Liz.” 

Armie’s eyes dropped closed again. Was it really that obvious? Had it been obvious to everyone but him?

What had happened, in the alley...that was a step in a direction Armie hadn’t realized, but now knew with absolute certainty, he had been heading in for months. His feelings for Tim weren’t simply those of admiration, friendship and affection. Something else had been brewing and blooming there, hidden just under the surface, wearing a platonic disguise. 

It had been so long since he had felt desire for anyone but Liz, and in particular, for another man. A passing appreciation, sure, but not this. Not…

Why hadn’t he seen it? Why hadn’t he recognized it for what it was?

Armie thought back to when he had first met Tim, tried to find that punch of lust inside that initial introduction, the first night they shared a cigarette, but...it hadn’t been there. That had been more like...a soul recognizing a soul. Intimate, but not sexual. He ran over the months in his head, the way he had sought out more time with the kid, had been drawn to him with more strength as the weeks wore on, as they got to know each other.

That was why, Armie realized suddenly. It hadn’t started with attraction. It had started somewhere else. The attraction had...developed. Slowly, hiding behind affection and friendship and...

As for Tim? He had said  _ Don’t let go _ . He had whimpered. He hadn’t pulled away. If Nick said...was it possible that Tim felt the same way? And  _ if _ he did...what then?

“Watch out,” said Nick.

Armie’s eyes sprang open as Nick steadied the hand holding the martini glass.

_ Right. Liz. _

“Thanks,” said Armie. “And...thanks.”

“No problem.” Nick gave him a look of such utter sympathy Armie nearly laughed. He was pathetic, wasn’t he? Falling for this kid when just a few months ago he had been trying to convince his girlfriend of four years to move in with him.

He knew he needed to sort things out, but at the moment...he had a show to launch.

He turned away from Nick and brought Liz her martini. He knew one thing for sure: he did not want her beside him as he watched the set. Luckily, she had managed to charm her way onto a bar stool while she waited.

“This is a good spot,” he said. “You’ll be able to see from here.”

She took a sip of the drink. “I can come with you,” she said. 

“No, stay. I won’t be able to pay any attention to you during the set, anyway. Might as well sit here, now that you have a seat.”

She hesitated, and then smiled. “Okay,” she said. 

“Enjoy the show.” He moved to walk away, and she grabbed his arm, pulling him in for a hard kiss that tasted of Bombay Sapphire. He gave in — and that’s exactly what it felt like — letting her stake her claim, for a moment. Then, he wrapped his hand around hers and lifted it off of him, pulling away. “Gotta go,” he said, with a shrug. 

He made his way up to the stage, where Tim was fiddling with a cord on his guitar and adjusting the position of an effects pedal with his foot. 

Armie paused a few feet away, taking a moment to look, really look, at Tim. The kid’s lanky frame perched on a wooden stool, one booted foot planted on the floor and the other dangling from a foot rail by a rubber heel. His long arms cradled his guitar. Slim fingers stroked and prodded the strings, twisted the tuning pegs, making minuscule refinements. 

Partially hidden by his shaggy dark hair, his face was the picture of concentration. Amidst the chaos and noise of the pre-show crowd, Tim looked like he was alone in a soundproof bubble. His brows were drawn together, and his tongue peeked out from between his lips. 

As Armie watched, Tim made one last adjustment and looked up. He scanned the crowd, looking left and right, his gaze finally landing on Armie. He gave Armie a hesitant smile, and Armie felt every single twisted nerve inside him release and settle. His face relaxed into an easy return smile, and he was in motion again, jumping onto the platform and approaching Tim. 

Once there, it was absolutely natural to reach a hand out and lay it on Tim’s shoulder, giving it a soft caress. 

“What do you think?” he asked. “You ready?"

Tim nodded. “As I’ll ever be,” he said. “Just do me a favor: if they start throwing rotten fruit, help me make a run for the exit.”

“I’ll block every last peach with my Jolly Green Giant body,” promised Armie. “You can count on it.”

“Awesome. Now I kind of hope it happens because that would make a great YouTube video.”

Armie slid his hand to the back of Tim’s neck and squeezed. “As long as it makes you laugh, I’m in.”

The relief Armie felt at the  _ normal  _ of it all was overwhelming. This was them, as if he hadn’t thrown the universe out of whack a short time ago.

He stepped away from Tim and up to the mic. Nick must have been watching, because the canned music faded, the spotlight came up, and when he flicked on the mic and tapped it, they were ready to go. 

The crowd quieted for a second and then cheered. 

“Good evening  _ Cor Cordium, _ ” said Armie, his voice echoing over the crowd. “Thank you so much for coming tonight. We’ve got a great show for you.” More cheers. “Most of you may already know that  _ Shepherd’s Ransom  _ had an unfortunate morning and are unable to perform tonight.” 

There was a handful of boos. Armie raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “I know, we’re all disappointed. We’re going to work with them to try to reschedule. But in the meantime,  _ Backsplash _ and  _ Confident Confidantes _ are here.” The cheers overtook the boos. “But first, a very special treat. I recognize some of you as regulars, and you’ll know the brilliant man behind me as Timothée Chalamet, exclusive to  _ Cor Cordium  _ on Sunday and Wednesday nights.”

A large handful of audience members hooted and whistled. Someone shouted, “Timothée!”

Armie grinned. Tim had fans. “Tonight, however, he’s going to be showing you a different — and no less brilliant — side. It is my great privilege to introduce you to the one and only…Timmy T!”

He stepped aside and looked to Tim, who tossed his curls out of his eyes and stood, grinning and waving. He turned to Armie and winked, and then pulled the mic closer to the stool and repositioned himself on it.

Armie backed off of the stage until he reached the wall, settling his back against it. He didn’t intend to move for the next hour. 

Without preamble, Tim began playing. Armie recognized the guitar riff, but it wasn’t until Tim opened his mouth that he was able to place it. He raised his eyebrows. 

Nirvana’s “About a Girl,” off of their first album,  _ Bleach _ . 

Armie grinned. Tim was singing Nirvana, his voice taking on the whiny tones of a young Cobain. The crowd cheered when they realized what he was playing. Some started singing along. That was a very good sign, Armie thought. Song one and the crowd is already involved. 

He’d never really doubted it would happen. 

At the end of the song, Tim stood, kicking the stool back with one foot and adjusting the mic back up to his standing height. 

“Thanks,” he said to the cheering crowd. “Always good to be able to start with a little Cobain.” He kissed two fingers on his right hand and saluted the sky, and the cheers grew louder. “I thought I’d take us back tonight, Nothing later than 1998, which is when this next song was released. You guys up for a little throwback?”

Without waiting for the whistles to die down, Tim launched into his next song. Again, it took Armie a moment to place it. A one-hit wonder, Eve 6’s “Inside Out.” A good transition from Nirvana, but a lighter tone. 

From there it was straight into Green Day’s “Basket Case” which had the majority of the crowd shouting the lyrics along with Tim. Armie couldn’t help mouthing along as well. 

“And now,” Tim said, when he was done imitating Billy Joe Armstrong, “I’m going to need your help. I’m just one guy up here, so you guys need to keep the beat for me. Can you do that?”

There was a roar of agreement, and Tim continued. “It goes like this.” He raised his hands over his head and clapped a steady beat until enough of the crowd had joined in. He stopped clapping and waited a moment, listening. Then he laughed, mouth wide. He shook his head. “Okay, let’s start again. That’s like...the most rhythmically challenged clapping I’ve ever heard. You sound like this.” He imitated terrible, off beat clapping. “Come on now, I’m counting on you. I know you can do better.” He started clapping again, keeping it up longer until it seemed like the crowd could sustain it. “Good. Keep going. Meanwhile…” He struck five rapid cords and said “Let’s do the jitterbug.”

Armie burst out laughing as Tim launched into Wham’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go,” his feet marking out a complicated dance around the mic.  It was an inspired choice. As soon as the crowd realized what was happening, they took their percussion job seriously, keeping up the rhythm as they danced and sang along. 

As the set went on, Armie marveled at how Tim, alone onstage with his single guitar, was able to cover hits that featured full bands and multiple singers. His voice was strong and clear, his playing solid and confident, and there was a purity to his renditions, since the melodies weren’t cluttered by anything else. The effect was electric. The crowd supplied the beats when necessary, and with each song choice — from Boy George to Dexys Midnight Runners to Beck and Bowie — the energy rose. 

With each song, Tim incorporated more movement, as well, until he was bouncing around the stage as he played, always able to return to the mic in time to belt out the next verse or chorus. 

Tim stayed mostly focused on the crowd, but every now and then, he glanced to his right and found Armie. Every time it happened, Armie felt an electric shock in his gut, a thrill up his spine. It told him that it meant something that he was there, nearby. It told him that Tim had taken his words to heart, and was drawing confidence from his presence. 

It told him that what had happened in the alley had destroyed nothing. Maybe it had even...built something.

They were nearing the end of the hour when Tim said, “We’ve got a special treat. Derek Whistler and Tommy Edlund, drummer and bassist of  _ Confident Confidantes _ have agreed to help me out on the next couple of songs. That okay with you?” 

The men mounted the stage to whistles and cheers, waving at the crowd. They took up their places, Derek at his drum kit and Tommy to Tim’s left. Armie wondered when Tim had had time to set this up. 

Then Tim pushed the crowd even higher by telling them he was going to bring it down a moment, then saying “Just kidding,” as Tommy struck up the familiar Queen riff from “Under Pressure.” 

Armie thought he might go deaf from the cheers, and was glad that wasn’t the case when Tim was able to hit the full extent of Freddie Mercury’s extensive range. 

The kid was phenomenal. If Armie had thought he was talented before, seeing him wear the rock personas of more than a dozen legends flawlessly made him realize he had grossly underestimated Tim’s abilities. And _that_ was saying something. 

“Okay, guys, I think I’ve got time for one more. Should I play one more?” It was getting redundant, the cheering. “You know the chorus for this, I know you do. And if you don’t, you’ll pick it up fast. I want to hear everyone.”

Tim nodded at the drummer, who nodded back and started up a beat. Tim removed his hands from the guitar and took hold of the mic. He paused, letting anticipation build. Finally, he opened his mouth and began to sing. 

There were no words, just a primal, melodic cry. Armie’s face broke into a huge grin as the audience immediately jumped in. He was surprised that the crowd was able to sing so clearly in unison. But maybe he shouldn’t have been. After all, Armie realized, who doesn’t know Baltimora’s “Tarzan Boy”?

The crowd was in a frenzy as Tim writhed and danced at the mic and sang about jungle life. He was mesmerizing, every movement graceful and electrifying. Armie felt a pang of need growing low in his gut. The strength and suddenness of the lust he felt terrified him. It was as if now that he had unlocked and cracked open the door, a flood had been released. 

But the scariest part was not the  _ want  _ he was feeling, but what was underneath that want. What was  _ causing  _ it. 

This wasn’t some casual affection. It wasn’t a momentary slip or confusion between friendship and something more intimate. It wasn’t a mistake. 

Armie may have been ignoring it, or mistaking it for something less intense, but standing here, watching Tim enthrall a room full of hundreds of people, in his element, one thing became crystal clear: he had fallen, head over heels, lock stock and barrel, no holds barred, in love with this boy. 

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck,  _ he thought, on the one hand. On the other hand...his heart soared and he couldn’t hold back the utter elation that was taking over every nerve in his body. 

“Sing it!” cried Tim. He grabbed the mic from its stand and pointed it at the audience, and let them take over the chorus, cheering them on. Armie tore his eyes from Tim and took in the sight before him. 

His pub. His  _ packed  _ pub, patrons jumping and dancing and singing along, grinning and laughing and celebrating life. He saw Nick over by the bar. His friend shot him a huge beaming smile and two thumbs up. 

The only person not singing and dancing was perched primly on a stool at the end of the bar, martini in hand. Liz wasn’t looking at Tim. Her eyes were fastened on Armie, and they were shooting daggers. 

He couldn’t bring himself to care. He refocused on Tim just as Tim turned to him, and when their eyes met, Armie felt tears gathering at the look of pure, unadulterated joy on the kid’s face. Armie nodded at him, grinning so wide he thought his cheeks might split. 

He was so proud, so  _ fucking  _ proud, of Tim in that moment. 

As the song came to an end, Tim placed the mic back in the stand and sang one last round of the chorus. When it was over, he shouted over the screams of the crowd, “Thank you, so much.  You guys are incredible. You’ve got two more amazing bands in store. Have an awesome night!”

Armie bounded onto the stage to Tim’s side. Without hesitating, he slung an arm around Tim’s shoulders and squeezed him close. Leaning into the mic, he said, “Timmy T, everybody!”

He waited until the cheers subsided, and then told them to sit tight, the next act would begin in a half hour, the bar was open, and to come back and see more of Tim on Sundays and Wednesdays. 

Then he grabbed Tim’s hand and tugged him off the stage. With a yank, he had the kid in front of him, holding his shoulders, and was steering him through the mass of people to the back hallway, shielding him from grabbing hands as best he could. 

Once they were in the kitchen, Armie hustled Tim to the office. Tim was saying something, but Armie ignored it. He had one focus: get the office open and get them inside. 

He fumbled with the key, in part because he was trying to deal with it one-handed, the other clutching Tim’s sleeve as though he might float away. But finally he got the door open, shuffled them both inside, closed the door and locked it. 

He turned to face Tim, who was setting his guitar on the desk. 

Tim’s face was flushed, his lips parted. His breathing was erratic. But his eyes were wide and shining with excitement. 

“It was okay, I think. Right?” he managed, his voice coming out in a croak. 

“Fucking  _ hell, _ Tim,” said Armie. “That was…” He shook his head, unable to form words that would convey the full extent of his praise. “Shit, come here.”

He grabbed at Tim and yanked him forward. Tim stumbled into his arms and Armie enveloped his thin frame, lifting him into the air and spinning him around. Tim laughed, his legs flying behind him. 

Armie stopped spinning and set Tim down, but didn’t let him go. “Jesus Christ,” he said, his nose buried in a mass of curls. He drew in a breath, drinking in the scent of Tim, damp with the sweat of exertion. “You were stunning. I’ve never seen...I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Tim’s face was resting in the curve of Armie’s throat, so that when he spoke, Armie could feel huffs of breath tickling his sensitive skin. 

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Tim said. “I can’t believe...did you  _ see _ them? They were...singing. And dancing.”

“I saw,” said Armie. “It was you. I  _ told  _ you. Did I not fucking tell you? Superstar. A natural.”

He pulled back slightly, so that he could see Tim’s face. 

“You’re happy, yes?” he asked. 

“I’m happy, yes,” said Tim. “Are...are you?”

Armie smiled. “So happy.”

Tim laughed, and the sound of it was even better than the music he had just produced. 

“I knew you’d be great,” said Armie. “But even I feel like I underestimated you. Mercury? Cobain? Armstrong? You were taking on legends.”

He pulled Tim in close again. “You really thought I was that good?” asked Tim, his voice muffled. “It wasn't just...the right mood, the alcohol, popular songs?”

“Don’t go low self-esteem on me now, kiddo,” said Armie. “You were spectacular. I mean that. Not everyone can get a crowd moving like you did. It’s...charisma. They were mesmerized.” He paused, and when he spoke again, it was in a whisper. “And so was I. God, Tim, I--”

Something shifted in the air between them, and the surge of energy made Armie suck in a breath, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. Armie cautiously moved his hand down the planes of Tim’s back, resting it on his hip. Tim stilled, then shifted his hip, leaning into the touch. Armie slid his hand around and lower, to the slight curve at the top of Tim’s ass. 

With his other hand, he tucked a finger under Tim’s chin and lifted it up, so he could see his face. He focused on Tim’s mouth, at his fluffy lips, worried that if he locked on Tim’s eyes he would be entirely lost. 

They stood there for the period of a breath, two, three, four. Finally, Tim broke the silence. 

“You have to do it,” he whispered. 

“Do what?” asked Armie. 

“If you want it, you have to be the one to do it.”

Armie moved his head down a fraction of an inch. “Do you want it?” He asked. He wasn’t sure what  _ it _ was, but he had a pretty good idea. 

“I do. But if you don’t, we can just keep being—“

Armie closed the distance between them, just to the point of being able to brush his lips against Tim’s. He didn’t proceed any further, relishing the anticipation of the moment. 

Tim let out a strangled sound, and then Armie felt Tim’s tongue flick out of his mouth and slide across Armie’s lips. 

Armie sighed, a sigh that turned into a word. “Tim.”

Then he crushed his mouth to Tim’s, unable to hold back any longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm sorry, hang in there...in the meantime, listen to...(THANK YOU to peaches-at-midnight for creating the Spotify link below):
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/dtb2k1s725c9gix49k54xkmnh/playlist/2FmDoBRVWm6208G3rA0ZTT?si=m-frT48UQWqT1SEMix1onw
> 
> Timmy T's Set of crowd-pleasers:  
> 1\. About a Girl - Nirvana  
> 2\. Inside Out - Eve 6  
> 3\. Basket Case - Green Day  
> 4\. Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go - Wham!  
> 5\. Karma Chameleon - Culture Club  
> 6\. Come On Eileen - Dexys Midnight Runners  
> 7\. Heroes - David Bowie  
> 8\. Loser - Beck  
> 9\. Let's Go Crazy - Prince  
> 10\. Under Pressure - Queen  
> 11\. Tarzan Boy - Baltimora


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something perfect and something imperfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, huge thanks to peaches-at-midnight who has already made one Spotify playlist (since I am apparently an idiot) for Chapter 10 and is offering to make more. I edited the endnotes of chapter 10 with the link to her Spotify and Timmy T's set list.
> 
> A short chapter for you all this evening. 
> 
> 100% fiction, as per usual.
> 
> And now, I turn to two chapters that have been giving me a lot of trouble and that I'm very worried about. Send good writing vibes, I'm bleeding on the pages over here and all I'm making is a mess.
> 
> Be patient for the next update. I'm working, but I'm not promising anything. ;)
> 
> All the love in the world for you and your enthusiasm.

**Chapter 11**

_ Holy shit. _

Armie’s mind, which had been racing in seven directions since earlier that evening, settled into one single thought:  _ This. Is. Perfect.  _

He sank into the kiss, letting it take over all of his senses: the taste of Tim on his tongue, the scent of his skin, the feel of his taut frame straining for contact, the sound of his soft moans and whimpers every time they parted for a quick breath, the sight of his lust-blown pupils making his green eyes nearly black. 

It was all Tim, Tim, Timmy, Timothée. There wasn’t room for anything else.

Tim lurched upwards, chasing Armie’s lips, his arms winding around Armie’s neck. The movement threw Armie off balance. He stumbled back a step, and he tightened his grip on Tim’s hips to make sure they didn’t fall. 

Tim lurched again, and this time Armie was prepared for it. His hands slipped down to cup Tim’s ass, and he lifted Tim towards him just as Tim shifted upwards. Tim’s response was to hike his left leg up and over Armie’s hip, so that he was now dangling with his right foot two inches off the ground, holding on as if he might plummet three stories if he lost his grip. 

Armie’s legs bumped against the desk behind him, and he lowered himself to it, sitting on the edge. He was able to use this new leverage to yank Tim into his lap, drawing his knees up to rest on the desk on either side of Armie’s hips. In this new position, Tim was suddenly looming over Armie. The kid stared down at him, lips glistening, eyes wide and fastened on Armie’s mouth. 

Before Tim could lower his head and return to their kissing, Armie placed one hand on the back of Tim’s neck and pulled it towards him. He latched onto the soft skin at the base and sucked. 

Tim moaned. 

A thought floated through the haze in Armie’s mind. 

_ Careful, they’ll see. _

Armie’s first reaction to that thought was  _ who fucking cares _ . His second thought was a thrill that people would see a mark on Tim’s neck and know it was his. The third registered the wisdom of the caution and, with a frustrated grumble, he yanked the collar of Tim’s shirt to the side and feasted on a patch of skin near Tim’s shoulder instead. 

“God — Armie —  _ god, fuck  _ —” Tim was muttering incoherently into Armie’s neck. He began planting open-mouthed kisses just under Armie’s jaw, and Armie bit down on Tim’s delicate skin in response.

Then hands were on Armie’s cheeks, his chin, pulling his face up, and Tim was devouring his mouth again with an urgency that made Armie grind his hips up, bringing them into full contact for the first time.

They broke apart with a gasp, and stilled.

He looked at Tim, at his bright, swollen lips, his curls wild from Armie’s tugging, his flushed cheeks, his shining eyes. Tim was looking at Armie as though he had been handed something precious that he never thought he’d deserve.

Armie himself was in a state of wonder. He wondered how in the hell he had gotten so lucky. He already thought Tim was perfect. A perfect musician, employee, and friend. Now...now he was being given so much more, and he could hardly believe it was real.

He reached out and cupped a hand on Tim’s cheek. Tim relaxed, a soft smile playing on his lips, as he nuzzled into Armie’s palm. The urgency suddenly gone, Armie drew his thumb back and forth along Tim’s cheekbone, and then pulled him close, tucking Tim’s head onto his shoulder.

They sighed in unison.

“Armie?” whispered Tim.

“Mmmm?” replied Armie, stroking Tim’s hair.

Tim laughed softly. “I’m sort of afraid to say anything,” he mumbled.

“What is it?”

“It’s just...what are we doing?” Tim’s voice was small, hesitant. “Not that I don’t want to -- I mean, obviously, I’d be crazy not to -- but I’m not sure…” he trailed off.

Armie swallowed. He wasn’t ready to face reality yet. He wanted to keep holding and kissing Tim. To have this little bubble around them, where the real world was not a factor. Because he knew what Tim was asking, and Armie didn’t know how to answer.

Finally, he sighed. “You’re asking me what it means,” he said. He felt Tim nod, the movement of his head tickling Armie’s neck. “To be honest...I don’t know. I didn’t plan for this to happen. I just...you were  _ so fucking amazing _ tonight. I was overwhelmed, I think, and the only thing I could think to do to express what I was feeling was this way.”

“Oh.” Tim sounded sad.

“Shit,” said Armie. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean that this was  _ just _ an expression of being, I don’t know, impressed. Or stunned. Or proud. Though I was all those things.”

Tim didn’t respond, so Armie tightened his embrace and tried to articulate what he was trying to say. 

“I just meant that it happened  _ now _ because I was feeling those things. But I...I think it would have happened eventually. Because I…” he trailed off, suddenly overcome by the feeling of holding Tim in his arms. 

It felt like he had been waiting for this his entire life. Everything else had been preparation. Training, for what he was meant to do, to be. 

Armie slid his hands up and down Tim’s back in a soothing motion, feeling the sharp ridges of Tim’s spine even through the kid’s layers of shirts. He smiled. With the way Tim was eating, he’d have more meat on his bones soon. 

Tim sighed and moved against him. Then he leaned back, his hands flexing on Armie’s chest, rubbing against the fabric of Armie’s t-shirt. He looked up, his face serious. 

“I meant what I said right before we — it’s okay if you don’t...want…” He stopped and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he smiled. “We can pretend this never happened. It doesn’t have to be awkward. You don’t have to feel weird. I—“

Armie cut him off with a kiss. It was soft this time, leisurely, and tugged at a place in his gut in a way nothing had in a long time, if ever. 

When he pulled back, he replaced his mouth with his thumb, skimming it across Tim’s lips. 

“I don’t feel weird,” said Armie. “That’s what I was trying to say. This feels...the opposite of weird. I didn’t plan it, but now that I’m here, I can’t imagine it ending up any other way.”

Tim smiled against Armie’s thumb. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Tim closed his lips around Armie’s thumb and sucked gently. Armie’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Jesus, Timmy,” he said. “How are you so perfect?”

Tim released Armie’s thumb and laughed. “Me. Perfect. That’s hilarious. Especially coming from you.”

Before Armie could reply, there was a knock on the door, and then someone tried the knob. 

They both went still. Armie put his finger to Tim’s lips. 

“Armie?” called a voice. 

Armie squeezed his eyes shut.  _ Liz. _ Interrupting him for the second time that evening _.  _

When he opened his eyes, Tim was watching him cautiously. Armie swallowed hard, shook his head. He didn’t know what he was saying no to, exactly, just…

Tim nodded. He smiled slightly and leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss on Armie’s lips. Then he slipped backwards out of Armie’s grasp. Armie raised a hand, reaching out, not wanting to lose contact. Tim took it, but pulled Armie to his feet. 

“Come in,” said Tim. 

Armie drew his brows together. What was Tim doing? The door was locked. 

Liz rattled the handle. “Tim? I think it’s locked,” she said. 

Tim gently pushed at Armie until he was seated in his desk chair. He quickly patted at Armie’s hair and straightened his collar. 

“Is it? Hang on,” called Tim. He smoothed his own hair back, adjusted his shirts, tugging them down at his hips. “You okay?” he whispered. 

Armie felt numb. All the elation he had felt just minutes earlier had disappeared and was replaced by...nothing. It took him a second, but he nodded. 

Tim crossed to the door, unlocked and opened it, laughing. “You must have, Armie, how else did it get locked?” he said over his shoulder. He turned back to the open door. “Hey Liz, sorry about that. We were just debriefing the set.”

She studied him, and then looked over his shoulder at where Armie was slumped in his chair. 

“Oh,” she said. “You ran off so fast.”

Time stopped for a moment as Armie looked at his girlfriend and his... _ Tim _ ...standing side by side. A ball of lead settled in his stomach as he realized what had just happened. Liz  _ was his girlfriend _ , had been for years. He’d loved her for longer than that. She didn’t deserve to be cheated on, no matter how out of sync they’d been lately or how irritated he had been at her recent attitudes. 

And Tim...he didn’t deserve to be cheated  _ with.  _ He was too  _ good  _ for that, and if Armie wanted him, then he needed to be worthy of Tim by being better than he was currently acting. 

He didn’t know what to do. What was right. The only thing he knew was that this second was not the time to make a decision and rock the boat. He had the rest of this important night to handle for the pub first. 

Armie pulled himself together. He couldn’t make Tim handle this all on his own. He forced a smile on his face. 

“Had to,” he said, shrugging and getting to his feet. “That crowd wanted pieces of Tim. We needed to move before there was a riot.”

“Well, things have calmed down,” she said. “Come on back out.”  Suddenly, her face changed. She beamed at Tim, flashing her white teeth. “You were fantastic, Tim. Let me buy you a drink to celebrate.”

He tried not to feel sick at her obviously false enthusiasm. He had  _ seen _ her. She hadn’t been enjoying Tim’s performance. So why the act?

But Tim was either fooled or trying to keep the peace, because he said, “Thanks, Elizabeth. I really appreciate that, and...sure. I could drink a beer.”

“Good. Armie? Are you coming?” she asked. Her smile stayed in place as she directed her gaze at him, and he made himself return the smile. She held out her hand to him. 

“Of course,” he said. He moved across the space between them and let her take his hand, trying not to flinch. Her hand was cold in his, gripping him a little too tightly. 

He glanced back at Tim. He had no idea what was on his own face, but it musn’t have been good, because he saw a moment of distress flash through Tim’s eyes. 

Tim stepped aside and gestured to the door. “After you guys,” he said. Liz led the way, pulling Armie along after her. He wanted to crawl into a hole, skip over the next few hours until he could take Tim home and they could...figure out what was going on, and he could figure out what he was going to do.

Then, as he moved past Tim, he felt something brush across his palm. He looked at Tim, and Tim squeezed his fingertips, then let go, giving him a small smile. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was reassuring nonetheless. 

Armie smiled back, and before he could stop himself, he winked. “Thank you,” he mouthed. 

Tim nodded, and followed them out of the office. The trio made their way back into the main room. Liz had been right, things had calmed down. But there was still a buzz in the air, and people stared at Tim and gave him the thumbs up on their way through.

One girl grabbed him and gave him a hug, and Armie stumbled because he was watching that instead of where he was going. 

When Armie turned back around, they were almost at the bar, and Nick was watching them. He took in Armie, Tim behind him, and Liz’s grip on Armie’s hand, and raised an eyebrow. Armie shook his head, knowing that Nick would want information that he wasn’t ready to express out loud.

Nick nodded slightly, then grinned at Tim. “There he is,” said Nick. “Superstar in the making.”

He pulled Tim into a rough hug. Tim looked surprised, then blushed. “Thanks,” he said.

“Seriously, man, that was incredible. You did not disappoint. I was actually talking to the lead guitarist for  _ Confident _ , and he was asking if I thought you’d be interested in playing a couple of songs with them later.”

Tim’s eyes were saucers. “You’re kidding me,” he said. 

“I swear I’m not. He’s around somewhere, he’ll want to talk to you. I think they’re worried that you hit such a high they won’t be able to compete.”

Armie’s heart leapt for Tim, and the smile that crept across his face was real. He let go of Liz’s hand, ignoring her noise of protest, and flung an arm around Tim’s shoulders, dragging him close.

“I told you. I fucking  _ told _ you,” said Armie. “Jesus, Timmy.”  Without thinking too hard about it, he ducked his head down and planted a kiss atop Tim’s head. He felt Tim stiffen, and rubbed his arm in reassurance. 

This was normal. How they were. There was nothing wrong with it. If he  _ didn’t  _ put his arm around Tim, it would seem weird.

But Liz jumped into action, grabbing Tim’s hand and pulling him out of Armie’s grasp. “I promised you a drink,” she said. “Come on, sit with me during the next show while Armie and Nick work.”

Armie watched them go, feeling frustrated and unsure of his next move. Nick clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

“All right, man?” he asked. 

Armie shrugged, still watching Tim and Liz, now seated on stools side by side. Liz had her hand on Tim’s arm, and Armie wanted to fling it off. 

Nick sighed. “Do you know what you’re going to do? About them?”

Armie was quiet for a moment, and then shook his head. “I can’t...look, thank you for trying, but I can’t think about it right now.” He let out a short laugh. “Let’s just work. It’s time for the next show.”

“Okay,” said Nick. “But do me one favor. Look at me a second.” Armie did, his eyebrows drawing together on confusion. “Now look at them.”

Armie turned back. Tim was laughing at something, his teeth gleaming in the light from the bar. He took a hand and used it to push a stray curl off his forehead and tuck it behind his ear. His fingers traced a pattern in a puddle of condensation on the bartop, drawing concentric circles through the liquid over and over. He shrugged one shoulder, and then, suddenly, he pushed himself so that he spun around on the bar stool in a lazy circle. When the rotation completed, he raised his head and his eyes settled on Armie. He smiled. 

Armie’s heart thudded and stopped for a second before picking up a fast rhythm. He gripped at the counter with desperate fingers. 

“So,” said Nick. “Which one did you look at first?”

Armie swallowed, and when he turned back to his friend, he could feel the tension in his jaw. 

Nick smiled in a gentle, understanding sort of way. There was no mocking there of any kind, and for that, Armie was forever grateful. 

“You didn’t look at her at all, did you?” he asked softly. 

“No,” Armie admitted. “I couldn’t see anything but him.”

Nick placed a hand on Armie’s shoulder and squeezed. “Then I think that’s your answer.”

Armie knew Nick was right. It wasn’t just that he currently only had eyes for Tim. That was the thing that pushed him to open his eyes, but really, the problems between he and Liz had been there for a long time. Since before Tim walked into his bar and turned everything upside down. It wasn’t just that they had grown apart; it wasn’t just that they wanted different things for their futures; it was that, as Armie thought about it, he wasn’t sure if Liz had ever really been the person he had made her out to be in his mind.

He had always been willing to overlook and excuse those elements of her personality that made him uncomfortable, in part because they seemed part and parcel of things he legitimately admired. He liked that she was ambitious and unafraid to go after what she wanted; he just didn’t love that she was willing to trample over others or put people down to get there. He like that she was practical and said what was on her mind; he hated the way she saw everything in terms of Machiavellian ends. He liked that she was a brilliant strategist and salesperson; he detested her tendency towards manipulation and games.

In the end, they weren’t suited for each other. They had had fun as friends, then lovers, then partners, but that time was past. Armie had grown up and moved on a while back yet...he just hadn’t gotten around to telling her that. It was time that he did. It was only fair.

A wave of relief and excitement washed over him, which was followed by an equally forceful wave of anxiety and dread. The road immediately ahead was going to fucking suck. But he knew that the first step to dealing with it was that, as soon as the night was over, he’d take Tim home and they’d...talk.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie moves forward with his decision, but hits an unexpected wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. Let's just get that out there.
> 
> This is pretty much pure angst, no fluff in sight. 
> 
> Here is an angsty playlist to get you through: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/30YZ3dFwXcQfLjawsdAGdY
> 
> 1\. Consoler of the Lonely - Raconteurs  
> 2\. Running Up That Hill - Placebo  
> 3\. Death -- White Lies  
> 4\. Back to Me -- All American Rejects  
> 5\. Never Say Never -- the Fray  
> 6\. I’m an Animal -- Neko Case  
> 7\. Mud -- Peaches  
> 8\. Cut -- Plumb  
> 9\. Cosmic Love -- Florence + the Machine
> 
> 100% fiction, of course.

**Chapter 12**

When Armie thought about it later, he’d realize how stupid he had been to think that he’d be off the hook at the end of that very confusing and tense night. Because, of course, Liz did the opposite of what he expected.

He would have expected her to leave sometime before close and head home. To her place. The rare times she had come to the pub in the past, she had done that, avoiding any of the end-of-the-night work. Knowing that Armie would be exhausted at the end of the shift, she had often just gone back to her place. Every so often, she would go to his place and be asleep when he finally arrived home.

That night, he kept waiting for her to leave. He watched her carefully, looking for the signs that she would say she was tired, that she had an early meeting, that the air in the pub was irritating her skin.

None of that happened.

Instead, she clung to Tim all night. She sat by his side at the bar and talked in his ear. She followed him when he went to talk to the lead guitarist for _Confident Confidantes_ about jumping in on their set for a couple of numbers. She laughed and patted his arm and played with his hair.

Tim looked uncomfortable. Armie was…

...well, he was doing everything he could not to grab Tim by the hand and run off with him into the night.

When Tim was making his way onto the stage during the third set, Armie sidled up to her and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She blinked at him, the picture of innocence. “What do you mean?”

It was really difficult for Armie to refrain from rolling his eyes.

“I mean...what’s with you being so friendly with Tim? I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I never said that,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t taking advantage of you. And...you seem to like him a lot, so I figured I should give him a chance.”

Armie wasn’t sure what to make of that, so he let it go.

He thought he deserved a medal by the time the last patrons had left and the staff began to clean. Liz was perched on a bar stool with a glass of water. Tim was bussing the last of the dishes from the dining room, and she was watching him.

Armie approached her. “You’re here late,” he said. “Aren’t you tired?”

She shrugged. “I’m good.” She continued to watch Tim until he carried a full bucket of glasses into the kitchen. “He’s a hard worker.”

“He is,” said Armie. “So...you’re no longer suspicious of his intentions?”

“Babe, I make a living by being suspicious of people’s intentions and being right, because pretty much everyone is out for themselves.”

Armie sighed. It wasn’t an answer to his question, but he realized he didn’t actually care what she thought. It was liberating to admit that, and mean it.

“Should I call you a car?” he asked, reaching for the phone.

“Why?” She sipped her water and watched him carefully, as if gauging his response.

Because of that, he was cautious in it, measuring his tone and choosing his words. “You’re out later than usual, and we’ll be a while yet. I just figured you’d want to head home.” He didn’t say which home, his or hers.

She shrugged. “I feel oddly awake. Must be the incredible show you all put on tonight.” Her smile was just this side of genuine. “You did a great job with this event, Boyfriend. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks. Sit tight then, if you’re not going. I’ve got some work to do.”

He left her at the bar and ignored her for the rest of the shift.

Ignoring Tim, on the other hand, was impossible, and not really what Armie wanted. Every time the kid passed by, he wanted to reach out to him. But Tim seemed to be avoiding _him_ , keeping contact to short glances and quick, nervous smiles. In the main room, that was probably a good idea, but Tim did it in the back as well.

Finally, after Armie had finished settling up the evening’s take and bagged the cash for the night deposit, he exited the office to find the last of the waitstaff clocking out and Nick shutting down all of the equipment in the kitchen.

“Great night,” Nick said, grinning. “This hare-brained scheme of yours to expand into a concert venue might actually have legs.”

“Thanks,” said Armie. “That’ll teach you to doubt me.”

“I’ve never doubted you,” said Nick. “So after tonight, I’m MIA until the wedding. You still okay with that, me being gone for a week and half?”

Armie nodded. “Of course. We’ll be fine.”

“Let me know if that changes,” said Nick.

The door from the main room opened, and Tim entered, pushing an empty mop bucket and wrung-out mop.

“Plus, you’ve got Tim helping you out, now,” said Nick. “What do you say, kid...want to fill in for me for the next week? Assistant manage for a while?”

Tim looked up in wary surprise, and Armie spoke up, knowing what he was thinking. “I asked him that already,” said Armie. “He’s not sure he wants the job. Don’t bully him.”

“I don’t bully,” said Nick. “I charm.” He flashed a white-toothed smile at them both.

“If you need extra help while Nick’s out, I can do it,” said Tim. “Maybe it...maybe that will help me decide. Like a trial period.”

“See?” said Nick. “You won’t even miss me.” He glanced between them, and must have sensed the tension, because he suddenly cleared his throat. “I can take that,” said Nick, gesturing towards the deposit bags.

“You sure?” asked Armie.

“No problem. Also...I have, uh...something I want to talk to Liz about before I go. About the wedding. It’ll probably take ten minutes or so.”

Armie just barely held back from flat out hugging his friend. Nick had come through that evening, in more ways than one, and Armie was going to find a way to make it up to him.

“Have a good night,” said Armie. “I’ll see you around, and let me know if you need me for anything before the bachelor party.”

Nick saluted them both and disappeared through the doors to the main room.

Armie looked at Tim, who was staring at the tile floor.

“Hey,” he said.

Tim glanced up. “Hey.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, looking like he was getting ready to flee.

“Can we…” Armie tipped his head towards the back door.

Tim hesitated, and looked over his shoulder at the door to the main room. Then he nodded. “Sure.”

Armie grabbed their coats off the pegs and handed Tim his. Then he led the way out into the back alley.

The icy air was like a slap in the face. The temperature had to have fallen into the teens during the course of the evening. Armie turned up the collar of his coat and looked over at Tim, who was hunched down into his own collar.

He produced a pair of cigarettes and held one up to Tim, who nodded. A moment later, they were blowing out twin streams of smoke. But they were standing on opposite sides of the alley, and Armie tried to figure out what was causing the sudden chasm and how to cross it.

“I’m smoking more now than I used to,” said Armie. “Probably not a great choice.”

Tim’s gaze flickered over to him and he gave a humorless smile. “My fault?”

Armie shrugged. “It’s an excuse to hang out with you, I think.”

That made Tim look over again, this time with a surprise painted on his face. Then he laughed, and it was a real laugh. Armie felt some of the tension subside.

“ _I’m_ smoking more than _I_ used to,” said Tim. “I think for the same reason.”

There it was, that quicksilver excitement dancing through Armie’s gut. He smiled back.

“We don’t _have_ to smoke, then, if it’s just an excuse,” he said, taking a step forward.

“I guess not,” said Tim. He hesitated, then pinched the ember off of his cigarette and stuffed the half-smoked stick in his pocket. He took a step forward as well.

Armie mirrored his actions. They were now standing within a foot of each other, close enough for Armie to reach out and run the back of his hand over Tim’s cheek. Tim sighed.

All Armie wanted in that moment was to claim Tim’s mouth again, to breathe each other’s breath, to press his bulky frame against Tim’s wiry one and...see. But he couldn’t do that.

“Look,” he said, deciding to just lay it out on the table. “I’m not...she’s right inside.”

Tim swallowed and nodded. “I know.”

“I’m working it out, okay?” said Armie. “I had wanted to talk to you, to...figure this out. But...she’s not leaving. So I think I need to talk to her first.”

“Of course,” said Tim. “I don’t want to be -- I told you, if it doesn’t…” he scuffed his boot on the ground, and turned away, whirling into the shadows. “I’m okay with being friends. I didn’t mean to cause...to make you--”

“You’re not,” said Armie. “You’re not making me anything, or causing anything. Okay?”

Tim seemed unable to stand still, moving around the alley, just out of Armie’s reach. “Okay.”

“Okay,” said Armie. “I’m going to. Talk to her. And then…”

“Don’t. Don’t promise me anything. Let’s go in,” said Tim. “If we’re not smoking. It’s fucking freezing.” He moved towards the door, and Armie acted quickly, snagging his elbow.

“Hey,” said Armie. “Just let me sort this out, okay? I meant what I said earlier, in the office. All of it.”

Tim blinked at him, and then smiled softly. “Yeah. Me too.”

Back inside, Nick had left and Liz was buttoning up her own wool coat and pulling on her leather gloves. She watched as Armie followed Tim into the main room, and then smiled brightly. “Ready to go home?” she asked.

The walk back to Armie’s was cold, and not just because of the temperature. Liz tucked her leather-clad hand in his and walked close by his side, her heeled boots clacking loudly on the brick sidewalks. Tim walked a few paces behind. Armie could just hear the dull thud of Tim’s rubber-soles, which matched his own pace almost exactly.

He couldn’t help but wish it was Tim pressed to his side instead of Liz, and that thought gave him the last push he needed to know he couldn’t delay what he had to do.

Once inside, they shed their coats and Armie hung them in the closet. He had flicked on the hallway light on their way in, but otherwise, the condo was dark.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and then Liz stepped to Armie and wrapped her arms around his waist, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

“Let’s get you to bed, Boyfriend,” she purred. “I’ve been waiting for this all night.”

He cringed inside, glancing over at Tim. The kid was quietly backing towards the guest room, a pained look on his pale face.

Liz grabbed the back of Armie’s neck and pulled him down so she could kiss him properly. He was passive under her assault, but it seemed to serve her purpose, because she then pulled away and turned to Tim.

“Sorry,” she said, a breathless edge to her tone, “sometimes I can’t help myself. He’s dreamy, isn’t he? I’m sure you’ve noticed. Objectively, I mean.”

Tim’s eyes went wide for a moment, and then he blinked and it was like a mask slipped over his face. He grinned. “Objectively,” he said. “I don’t think anyone could argue with that.”

“Tim—“ Armie began, but Tim shook his head.

“I’m beat,” he said. “See you in the morning.”

Armie watched as he backed up a few more steps, found the door to the guest room, and retreated inside.

Once the door had closed with a sharp click, Armie pushed Liz away, less gently than he had intended.

“What the fuck was that about?” he asked.

She pouted. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs, unless you’ve changed your mind about the sofa.”

He pushed past her and climbed the stairs. In his head, he tried to put the right words together to say what needed to be said. He knew what he had to do. He didn’t need to talk to Tim first, because this decision wasn’t about Tim. It was about Liz.

What had just happened — the show she had just put on for Tim — had made him sick to his stomach. The entire evening, after she had barged into the office at the pub, had made him sick to his stomach. And that wasn’t the first time she had induced that reaction in him in the recent past.

Once in his room, she grabbed his hands and placed them on her waist, then tried to wrap herself around him. Again, he pushed her away.

“Not tonight,” he said, gruffly.

Her eyes flashed. “What is wrong with you?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. We haven’t slept together in weeks.” She folded her arms across her chest.

He shoved his hands through his hair. She was right. It had been about three. “Has it been that long?” He was avoiding the question. _Just tell her_ , he thought. _Just say it: I think we should break up._

“You know it has,” she said. “And we both know why, even if you’re too chicken shit to say it.”

“Okay,” he said grimly. “Then maybe it’s time I did. This isn’t working anymore, Liz.”

Her mouth dropped open, and that took him aback. She couldn’t have been surprised, not when she had dared him to say it.

Since she didn’t seem capable of speaking, he forced himself to continue, to fill in the horrible gaping silence between them. “Things have been off for a long time now. We both know it. I’m not happy. You’re not happy. We’re...forcing ourselves to continue in our established roles, but that’s all we’re doing anymore, playing the parts we’ve been so accustomed to playing.” He gentled his tone as best he could. “I think it’s time for us to go our separate ways.”

She stared at him, and then her face crumpled. She sank onto the bed, burying her head in her hands. He was suspicious. Such a reaction seemed overly dramatic for her, the ever-pragmatic person that she was. After a moment, she looked up, and he could see that her eyes were shining with unshed tears, but her mouth was twisted into a bitter curl. That was more along the lines of what he would have expected.

“Perfect,” she said. “That’s just fucking perfect. Your timing is impeccable, as usual, Boyfriend.”

He tried not to roll his eyes. “I didn’t choose the timing,” he said. “I’m just telling you how I feel. I don’t think it’s meant to be.”

She licked her lips, and shook her head. “And when our baby is born, I’ll tell him that.”

For a long moment, Armie was sure that he was standing on the deck of a ship, and the floor was rocking under his feet. He reached out a hand to his dresser, tried to steady himself.

“Our _what_?” he asked. His voice came out in a harsh rasp, and he realized he hadn’t taken a breath in over a minute.

She smiled a joyless smile. “Our baby. I found out for sure today, at the doctor’s. That’s why I decided to come to the pub tonight, to tell you. But you seemed...like you needed to stay focused on business, so I waited.”

“But...what...how?” he asked. “I thought you were on birth control.”

“I am. I was. But you know it’s not a hundred percent effective. It happens.”

Armie continued to hang onto the edge of his dresser like it was the only stable thing left on earth. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? He could feel any excitement and hopefulness about his future slipping through his clenched fingers. He swallowed and tried to see through the fog of gloom that was threatening to overtake him.

“Are you -- I mean, what have you decided to do?” He tried to keep his voice calm and level, but he was unsuccessful.

“What have I decided to do? Like, am I keeping it, you mean?” She shook her head. “Jesus, Armie, way to make a girl feel like shit. Of course I’m keeping it.”

“You always said you didn’t want kids until you were in your thirties. To give you time to focus on establishing your career.” It was true. She had said that many times. Any time he had started to talk about moving forward, she had accused him of wanting her to just give up on her ambitions.

Now, she sighed. “I did say that. But...I’m twenty-nine, and thirty isn’t that far off. So maybe this is what’s supposed to happen. Maybe it’s what we need to get back on track. I thought…” she trailed off and looked away, her next words coming out in a whisper. “I thought you’d be happy.”

He took a deep breath. She was pregnant. With his child. And she was keeping it. He needed to...sit down. To figure this out. Carefully, he let go of the dresser, and was surprised that the ground seemed to stabilize under his feet. He moved to the bed and sat down beside her.

“I’m...surprised,” he said. “And I’m worried. I don’t know that bringing a child into this is going to solve anything.”

They sat in silence for a while. Eventually, he placed a hand on her back, and she took that as a signal to lean into him. He put his arms around her. However angry he had been, however frustrated and disconnected they had felt lately, this changed things.

“How long?” he asked.

“Just under a month,” she said. “I think it was the night after that dinner at my boss’s house.”

He nodded. He remembered. That had also been, to his knowledge, the last time they had been together.

“So,” she said. “What do you think?”

He sighed. “I guess I think that we need to talk about this. I’ll support whatever you do decide. I just don’t know that it means...for us...what you think it might.”

She stared at him for long seconds, and then, finally, she pushed up from the bed and paced back and forth. He watched her warily. Then she snorted.

“Are you laughing?” he asked, rising from his own seated position. “What’s so funny?”

She spun around. “I think it’s funny,” she snapped, humor gone from her voice. “It’s funny that you’re pretending that we’ve...what? Grown apart? When we both know what’s really going on here.”

“Really?” He squinted at her. What could she possibly be talking about? “Enlighten me, then.”

“You’re actually considering breaking up with me after I tell you we’re having a baby?”

“Come on,” he said. “You know how I feel about two people who don’t belong together staying together for the sake of children. You know that I--”

“Yes, I know, your childhood, whatever. But, Armie, we’re not totally wrong for each other, or else we wouldn’t have made it this long. More than that, you’ve always wanted children someday. I’m offering you that, and you’re thinking about walking away? There’s only one reason you’d do that. You don’t want me anymore because you’re fucking someone else.”

Her words landed on the floor between them with a thud. He went cold from head to toe. She couldn’t know how he felt about Tim; he had barely figured it out himself.

“Liz, I haven’t...I’m not sleeping with anyone else,” he said. _Truth_.

“Oh no?” she spat it out, clearly not believing him.

“I swear to you, I’m not. I wouldn’t do that to you.” _Mostly truth. He would have stopped what was going on in the office, even if they hadn’t been interrupted. Right?_

There was a long pause, as they took each other in.

“If you’re not,” she said, with quiet scorn, “then you’re about to.” _Truth. Maybe. Probably? Hopefully._

She wasn’t wrong, not entirely. He didn’t know what Tim wanted, not for sure, but he was at least willing to admit that _he_ wanted _Tim._ And for the purposes of this conversation, that was all that mattered.

Armie closed his eyes and took a steadying breath.

“Let’s talk about the real problem,” he said, “not an invented one.”

“Okay. Let’s talk about him.”

Armie froze. “Him?”

“Oh, cut the crap, Armie. We both know that the other person involved here is the one in the guest room downstairs. I see how you look at him, how he looks at you.” Her mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “How many nights has he actually spent in that room down there? Any at all? Or did he start _paying_ you _rent_ from the very first day?”

A red haze flickered on the edges of Armie’s vision at the suggestion she was making. “I told you,” said Armie quietly, with as much control as he could muster, “I haven’t been cheating on you.”

She opened her mouth, and he held up a hand.

“But,” he said. “You’re right. I’m...there’s something between me and Tim. Or, rather, I think there could be.”

“Fuck,” she said. Then, she seemed to deflate, sinking onto the floor where she stood. She seemed surprised that he had admitted it. When she spoke again, her voice was small. “Is this...something that you could get out of your system?”

His head snapped up. “What?”

“Tim. Is this an itch you need to scratch before you settle down? Like, you’ve always wanted to fuck a guy and you can’t promise to never do it again until you’ve tried it?”

He frowned, and considered for a moment how to reply. Finally, he settled on, “Liz...I’ve slept with men before.”

She waved her hand in the air. “Okay, fine. I know you _said_ you were bisexual, but I’ve never seen you date a guy. So how was I supposed to know if it was real or just…I don’t know, a phase?”

He laughed. “I dated guys while we were friends. Before we got together.”

“You did not.”

“I _did._ More than one. Even introduced you to a couple. But I guess you have selective memory.”

She blinked at him, then rolled her eyes. “I guess so. But my question stands. Is this — _Tim_ — something you need to get out of your system?”

“Like, do I want to just have a night with him and then I won’t want him anymore?” Armie could hardly believe what she was asking.

“Right. Then you can come back to me -- and the baby -- and we can forget it ever happened.” She began picking at a loose thread on the edge of the throw rug. “I don’t love it, but I’d...find a way to live with it.”

He sighed, and moved to sit beside her on the floor, folding his legs underneath him. “No,” he said. “This isn’t...it’s not like that. And I don’t even know if Tim would want...anything.” _Mostly true_ , he told himself. “I just...he’s my best friend. So if anything were to happen, it would mean more than just...an itch to scratch, as you put it.”

There was a pause. Then, quietly, she asked, “When did _I_ stop being your best friend?”

When _had_ it changed, he wondered. A long time ago, probably, and so slowly he hadn't even noticed.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But...”

“I don’t get it,” she said. “You’ve known him for, what? Three months? How do you decide to fall out of love with the person you’ve been in love with for nearly a decade, in that short a time?”

When she looked up at him, her eyes were shining again, and he couldn’t help but reach for her and pull her close.

“It didn’t happen that quickly,” he said. “It happened before. I just didn’t have reason to admit it or deal with it until now.” He rubbed small circles on her back. “This isn’t about Tim,” he tried to explain. “I was feeling like we were over long before he showed up in my pub.”

She stiffened, and pushed herself out of his grasp, getting to her feet. He followed.

“Okay,” she said. “Then -- if that’s true, and it’s not about him -- forget about him for a minute. Focus on us. We’ve been together so long. Put so much work into _us_ . Planned a future together. Now...there’s something else, another life, linking us together. That _has_ to mean something. Let’s figure it out, what went wrong, and fix it.”

He shook his head. “Liz—“

“No, Armie, listen. You chased me for years. You loved me, I know you did.”

“I did.”

She grabbed his hands and held them tight. “Then...maybe it’s my fault. Whatever we lost, maybe it’s because I changed. I’ve been...too focused on my career. Not making time for you. You said it tonight, I haven’t been to the pub in ages. I’ve been ignoring you, and what you want.”

“I don’t—“

She placed a finger to his lips. “You asked me to move in, and I insisted on something you didn’t want. I wouldn’t compromise, and I thought you still wanted me enough that I didn’t have to. I was wrong.”

He tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let go.

“Give me a chance. Give... _us_ a chance. You, me, the baby...that’s all I’m asking. A chance to fix it.” She blinked away tears, and he felt himself weakening a little, in spite of himself. “I’ll fix it. We can get it back, what we had. Please, Armie. Don’t throw us away, on a whim, without at least letting me try.”

He closed his eyes. Was she right? Weren’t all relationships work, a choice, to stick with someone and work things out no matter what? Was he throwing away something that could be his real, solid future, just for a...crush on someone else? Could they return to what they once were? Did he have an obligation to try, because now there was someone else, a helpless someone, about to enter the picture?

His mind wandered back to being in the office with Tim, holding him in his arms. He remembered the kiss, and how perfect it had felt in that moment. That was real, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just some adrenaline-fueled moment of insanity?

No. It was one hundred percent real. He had fallen hard for Tim, in more ways than one, and the kiss had just opened his eyes, let him see it clearly. Tim was right for him, he was sure of it.

And yet...despite that, an annoying nagging voice in the back of his head was telling him to agree to Liz’s pleas. To let her at least try to recapture what they had. If he did, and he still wanted to end things with her, and he still wanted to be with Tim...then he’d never question it, even if things with Tim didn’t last. Even with the baby, even if he had to explain to him, to her, that he and Liz weren’t together because it wouldn’t have been a happy life.

He opened his eyes. “I’ll give you until New Year’s.”

“New Year’s? That’s not even two weeks,” she protested.

“Take it or leave it,” said Armie. “New Year’s. We can try until then, and make our decision.”

She hesitated, and then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “You’ll see. It’ll be just like it was. You won’t regret this.”

She leaned in then, going for a kiss, but he stood up and moved away.

“One condition,” he said. “We won’t have sex. Or anything else.”

“What?” She looked like he had just told her that she could take a gun, but no ammunition.

He smiled. “If we’re going to stay together, I want it to be based on something besides sex,” he said. “I _need_ it to be more than that. The baby needs it to be more than that. Because if we stay together, I want it to be right. And good. For everyone involved.”

She nodded. “If that’s what you want.” Then her lips stretched into a thin, determined, line. “But I have a condition of my own. If you’re staying away from me, then you’re staying away from _him_ too.”

He blinked at her in surprise. “What?”

“If you’re not sleeping with me for the next ten days, you’re not sleeping with him, either. It’s only fair.” She folded her arms across her chest, and he nearly smiled at the image. This was more like the Liz he knew than the one who had been begging him for a chance.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s fair.”

He hated it. He wanted to go downstairs right now and seek comfort with Tim, tell him what was going on, ask for his advice. He wanted to feel Tim’s hands on his face, run his hands through Tim’s curls. He wanted so much more.

But she was right. If he was going to give them the time to make a decision, it had to be about them, and not about Tim.

She nodded and ran a shaky hand through her hair. “I guess you can call me that car now.”

He hesitated. He hated how small she suddenly looked. In all the time he’d known her, he’d never seen her look so tiny. He sighed. “It’s late,” he said. “You don’t have to go. It’s a big bed.”

She looked up at him warily. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We can sleep. Talk more in the morning. Okay?”

She nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “Can I...can I give you a hug?”

He nodded. “I don’t think that could hurt.” He opened his arms, and she went into them. It was a comfortable old feeling.

And that, he realized, was all it was. Comfortable because it was old. It wasn’t the _perfect fit_ sensation he felt with Tim in his arms, that sense that Tim was filling in all his spaces without even trying, making him a more complete version of himself.

Being around Tim was invigorating, making everything seem brighter. But that could be the newness of it. It was that feeling that Tim was the satisfaction of every yearning he had ever felt...that was what made him think this thing...whatever it was...was true, and real.

A while later, after they had slipped into bed -- each keeping to their own sides -- and her breathing had evened out, he reached for his phone. He shielded the light with his body and tapped out a message.

_Armie: You asleep yet?_

He held the phone, and his breath, waiting. A few minutes passed, and he was about to give up when he got a response.

_Tim: Almost. Everything okay?_

Armie smiled. Just like Tim to check on how he was doing. He hesitated, trying to figure out what to say. He hadn’t thought this through, just needed to reach out and make sure Tim was still talking to him.

_Armie: Not...okay exactly. Unexpected. I’ll tell you about it in the morning. You okay?_

_Tim: Why wouldn’t I be?_

_Armie: Because before, when we got back...I’m sorry she put on that show. It was a shitty thing for her to do._

_Tim: She knows._

Again, Armie hesitated. But he’d gone this far.

_Armie: Yeah. She does. But it’s okay._

_Tim: Yeah. I told you, it’s fine. We’re friends, and that’s great._

Armie squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want that, and he wanted to tell Tim, but...not over a text message, in the middle of the night, while lying in bed next to his pregnant girlfriend. He wondered if Liz would wake up if he slipped out and went down to talk to Tim in person. He decided not to risk it. Besides, the way he was feeling, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t break the promise he had just made her if he ended up in a dark bedroom with Tim tonight.

_Armie: I think it’s more complicated than that._

A few minutes passed, and when Tim didn’t respond, he reached out again.

_Armie: You still there?_

_Tim: What do you want me to say?_

_Tim: If it’s too complicated, then...do you want me to move out?_

_Armie: No!_

_Armie: Definitely not. There’s just more to consider than I realized. Can we talk about it in the morning?_

_Tim: Of course._

_Armie: Nothing’s changed, Tim. I still want you here._

There was a long pause, and then Tim sent one last text.

_Tim: Where else would I go? Goodnight, Armie._

Armie sighed. He could feel, without even seeing him, that Tim wasn’t okay. He could only trust that Tim would be there in the morning and would hear him out, would have a little patience, and faith.

_Armie: Goodnight, Tim._

He put his phone aside and drifted off into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm sorry. Have faith.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I promised I wouldn't let you suffer under the effects of Chapter 12 for long.
> 
> This is still mostly angst, but there is hope weaved in. I hope it soothes your heart and keeps you going.
> 
> Still 100% fiction.
> 
> Chapter Playlist (what I listened to on loop while writing): 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5r0sWnZ08HPG66ngJ8LwkC
> 
> 1\. I’m Not Okay -- My Chemical Romance  
> 2\. Papillon -- Airborne Toxic Event  
> 3\. Temptation -- Moby  
> 4\. Believer -- Viva Voce  
> 5\. Boom -- Anjulie  
> 6\. To Lose My Life -- White Lies  
> 7\. Run -- Leona Lewis  
> 8\. Bloodstream -- Stateless  
> 9\. This Time Next Year -- Goldhawks  
> 10\. Give Me Strength -- Snow Patrol
> 
> (Note: the last one won't load on Spotify but I am NOT removing it from this playlist. Find it elsewhere if you must, it's a masterpiece.)

**Chapter 13**

That night, Armie’s restless dreams involved standing at the edge of things: a cliff, a diving board, a roof, the railing of a bridge. What was behind him changed: his parents, his little pub, his wallet, all seeming to blend together in the black and white tones of an old movie, all calling out to him in Liz’s voice. In front of him...fog, swirling, writhing, a sea of vibrant colors and flashes of lightning that illuminated points of sharp green light and an elusive head of dark curls.

When Armie’s alarm went off in the morning, all such dreams fled from his memory, as dreams tend to do, leaving him with only a sense of being on the edge of something that he couldn’t quite place. He groaned and snatched up his phone to silence it. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and squinted at the screen, checking the time.

“What time are you going in?” asked a voice from beside him. He rolled his head to the side to find Liz blinking at him sleepily and yawning.

At the sight of her, everything that had happened the night before came rushing back: being in the alley with Tim and feeling things shift, realizing that what he was feeling for Tim was more than a simple friendship, kissing Tim -- _fuck,_ the kissing -- in the office, realizing he had fallen in love this with incredible person who had waltzed into his life without warning and taken up prime real estate in his heart.

He closed his eyes as the now-familiar rush of excitement flooded his belly, a charge of electric joy that he had never before experienced.

Then he opened his eyes, saw Liz again, and the excitement fizzled. He had tried to end things, and...it had gotten complicated, and now everything was fucked.

Incredibly, she was still on her side of the bed. He had worried that, during the night, they would have moved toward each other, but that hadn’t happened. In fact, as he thought about it, he realized that the opposite had always been true; they usually began the night in a cuddle, and by the time morning rolled around, they were on their own sides. He had always attributed it to them each needing their own space, but he found himself wondering what would happen if it was Tim in bed beside him. He suspected that he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from wrapping his limbs around Tim to make sure he couldn’t get away.

He shivered slightly at the thought, then forced himself to focus on Liz’s question.

“This morning? Probably for nine or ten,” he replied. “We got everything taken care of last night, and since…” he cleared his throat, “since Tim’s been working with me all week I’m ahead of schedule on everything else.”

She sat up, pushing the covers off. “I’ll make you breakfast,” she said. “While you shower.”

He stared at her. In their eight years of knowing each other, he didn’t think she had ever made him breakfast.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said. “I can take care of it.”

“I know, but...I want to do something for you.” She pushed her hair out of her face and smiled. “I don’t do things like that for you, and I want to.”

“You made me dinner on Monday,” he said.

She made a face. “Yes, but...that wasn’t really me doing something nice for you.”

He waited. He knew it wasn’t. He knew it had been a passive-aggressive move. He wondered if she was about to come clean, and if she did, if that meant she really did want to change.

“So I have a confession to make,” she said, sitting back on the bed. She stared at her hands, twisting her fingers together. “I did that mainly because I wanted to make you feel bad. For forgetting to call me and make plans. I thought if I showed up, and did this nice thing, you would feel terrible.” She glanced up at him. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled. “I know,” he said. “Believe me, I knew what you were doing.”

“How?”

“Because I know you.”

She hesitated, and then smiled back. “Yeah. You do. Let me make you breakfast. It’ll be ready by the time you come downstairs.”

He nodded, and she grinned and jumped up.

“Thanks,” he said.

Armie watched her leave, more surprised at her behavior than he was really willing to admit. She had actually tried to be honest with him.

He shook off the clouds of sleep and doubt, and grabbed up his phone again. He typed out a quick text.

_Armie: You up?_

There was only a momentary pause before the reply came.

_Tim: I’m up._

_Armie: Where are you right now?_

_Tim: In my room._

Armie smiled at Tim’s reference to the guest room as _his._ He tapped out a question.

_Armie: Coming in with me today?_

_Tim: What else would I be doing?_

Armie smiled with more than a little relief. After the previous evening, the interrupted makeout session in the office, and the disaster with Liz showing up and throwing herself at him in front of Tim, Armie was a little afraid Tim would be thinking about running...or would have already.

He was about to reply when another message came in.

_Tim: Unless you don’t want me to. I can stay home if it’s easier._

Armie frowned, and typed a response.

_Armie: Don’t be stupid. Why wouldn’t I want you to come?_

There was a long pause. The three little pulsating bubbles appeared, then disappeared, appeared again, then disappeared. Impatient, Armie poked.

_Armie: Tim?_

Finally, he got a response.

_Tim: No reason. I’ll be ready in a bit._

_Armie: Good. I’m getting in the shower; I’ll be down soon._

Armie smiled as he started the shower, brushed his teeth, and then ducked under the steaming cascade. As the heat sunk into his shoulders, he sighed. He felt like he had been wound tightly since the night before, since that moment in the alley when he had felt his pull to Tim shift. He closed his eyes and let the water run over his face, feeling it draw the tension along with it.

Things would work out. They had to. He would make sure of it. He didn’t know _how,_ exactly, but there had to be a way. He had just found Tim, and...no matter what happened with Liz, he wasn’t willing to let the kid go without a fight.

He was getting dressed when he had a moment of panic, realizing that Liz was downstairs making breakfast, probably acting like everything was perfect between them, and Tim might already be out there. He hated to think what Tim would assume, or what she might say to him unmonitored. He zipped up his pants so fast he nearly took his finger off, and hurried down the stairs, cursing the fact that he hadn’t thought of this earlier.

Sure enough, Tim was sitting at the dining room table looking like he had just swallowed someone’s cat. Liz was at the stove, transferring a pancake to the top of a tall stack, which she promptly covered with a tent of aluminum foil. Bacon was sizzling in a pan, and there was a plate containing a pile of already-cooked bacon atop a paper towel sitting on the counter.

“Hi, Boyfriend,” she said with a coy smile. “Grab a cup of coffee. Pancakes and bacon are almost ready. I hope you’re hungry.”

Armie didn’t miss the slight grimace on Tim’s face at Liz’s use of her favorite nickname for him. He felt all the tension that had slipped away in the shower return, full force, pulling his neck and shoulders into a big knot.

“Thanks,” he muttered. When her smile faltered, he tried to relax. “Smells great,” he said.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and moved into the dining room. Tim was staring, hard, at the contents of his own cup. His jaw was clenched, and his shoulders were hunched.

That wouldn’t do at all.

Armie slid into the chair beside Tim, rather than the one at the head of the table, which was clearly set for him.

“Morning,” he said. He leaned over and bumped his shoulder against Tim’s. Tim shot him a quick look, then went back to staring at his cup. Armie slid his foot to the left until it was touching Tim’s. He nudged slightly.

“Morning,” Tim said softly in response.

The sound of Tim’s voice helped to unravel some of the tension Armie was feeling. Aware of Liz’s sharp gaze, he nudged with his foot again, and when that didn’t provoke a response, he moved his hand under the table and placed a warm palm on Tim’s knee.

This time, Tim’s gaze snapped to his, and their eyes locked. He squeezed once, tried to communicate something reassuring with his expression. It seemed to make a difference, because Tim relaxed slightly and gave him a small smile.

Then Liz was there, placing the platters of bacon and pancakes on the table with a flourish.

“Here you are, boys,” she said. “Eat up.”

Armie leaned over and grabbed the corner of the placemat at the head of the table. He slid it in front of him, ignoring Liz’s slightly raised eyebrow.

“Everything looks great,” he said. He picked up the plate of pancakes and the serving fork and turned to Tim. “How many?”

”Two. Thanks.” He stared at his plate.

Armie held in a sigh. Tim was wound up tight. He wondered what had happened before he came downstairs.

He dropped two fluffy pancakes on Tim’s plate, then three on his own, before offering them to Liz, who had taken a seat across from him.

He repeated the same process with the bacon, except that when Tim said that he’d also take two pieces of bacon, Armie gave him four.

“Protein is good for you,” said Armie, at Tim’s arch look.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Armie left his knee pressed against Tim’s under the table and was pleased to see that Tim ate all four pieces of bacon, and took a third pancake.

Liz spoke first. “What’s on the agenda today?” she asked.

“Normal Saturday,” Armie replied. “We usually do decent lunch and afternoon business, and then we’re fully staffed tonight. A couple of our regular acts are scheduled and they draw a good crowd.”

“What about for you, Tim?” asked Liz. “What did you decide?”

Armie frowned and glanced to his left. “He’s coming in with me.”

Tim cleared his throat. “Liz was wondering if that was necessary,” he said softly. “Or if it might make more sense for me to go looking for another job.”

Armie closed his eyes and prayed for patience. So much for thinking Liz was really trying to change. It was disappointing, but in a way it was a relief. It made things easier for him. When he opened his eyes and spoke, he directed his comments at her.

“Tim’s coming with me. I need him.” His voice was quiet, but stern, with a note of caution. “Especially this week, with Nick off doing wedding prep.”

She heard the caution, because her eyes widened slightly and she nodded. “Well, good. Then...why don’t you boys go. I’ll clean up here, and I’ll be by later.”

“That’s not necessary,” said Armie.

“I don’t mind.”

He stood. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

She blinked up at him, then smiled. “Of course.”

To Tim, he said, “I’ll be right back, and we’ll go. Okay?”

Tim was watching them warily. “Sure,” he said.

Armie hated that deer-in-headlights look. It didn’t belong on Tim. Not the Tim he knew. He wondered if it was just the uncertainty brought about by the previous night, or if there was something else going on.

Armie led the way upstairs. Once in his bedroom, he whirled on Liz.

“Whatever you’re doing, cut it the fuck out. Or all bets are off.”

She blinked at him. He had to give it to her, she certainly had the “whatever-could-you-mean?” expression down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “What am I doing?”

He sighed. “I’m talking about you telling Tim he didn’t need to come to the pub today. That’s completely inappropriate.”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t tell him _not_ to go. I _asked_ him if he really needed to be there, or if he should be out looking for another job.”

Armie did his best to tamp down the anger that was rising, but wasn’t very successful. “That’s none of your business,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Liz, I swear to god, stay away from him.”

“Maybe _you_ should stay away from him,” she snapped. “Can you blame me? Last night you tell me that you’re interested in this kid, enough that you might not want to stay with your pregnant long-term girlfriend. I’m sorry, but if you’re really going to give us a chance, you should separate yourself from him.”

He turned away from her and stalked to the window, leaning forward and laying his forehead against the cool glass. He took several deep breaths. When he turned around, his expression was calm, collected.

“I agreed not to pursue a physical relationship with him right now, which is reasonable,” he said. “But Tim has become integral to my business, and more than that, he’s an important part of my life, no matter what happens here.”

She frowned. “But—“

“Listen to me.” Armie was careful to keep his tone as even as possible. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions take control, not just then. “Tim’s not going anywhere. Even if we do decide to stay together — which isn’t looking great at the moment, to be honest — I am not kicking him out. Of my house or of my life. It’s non-negotiable.”

She stared at him. Then she asked, “How am I supposed to be okay with you working and living side by side with this kid, after what you told me?”

“You’ll just have to trust me,” he said. When she looked like she was about to protest, he added, “Are you planning on monitoring me for the rest of our lives? Because that doesn’t sound like the kind of relationship that either of us should want to be in.”

She looked frustrated, but then she sighed. “No, you’re right. You’re right, I should trust you.” She studied him, and something he couldn’t quite identify flickered across her face. “He’s really that important to you, isn’t he?”

Armie hesitated, and then nodded. “I can’t explain it. But Tim is...special.”

“Do you...does he feel the same way?” She looked like she didn’t want to ask, but had to know.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I know he has some feelings for me. But we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it. I didn’t...I didn’t realize that what I was feeling was more than friendship until last night.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Liz. This is fucked up. I should have...done a lot of things differently.”

“Maybe. Maybe we both should have. I…” She looked away a moment, then shook her head. “Okay. I’m on board. Change, right? You go do what you do. You sure you don’t want me to swing by later?”

He nodded, relieved that she was backing off and the situation was diffused for the moment. “I’m sure. I need some space today.”

“Armie, how is this—“ she gestured between them, “—going to work? When will we see each other?”

He considered that. She wanted to demonstrate that she could change, that they could capture what had been lost between them, but he was going to be incredibly busy for the next ten days with Nick out of commission.

Finally, he said, “I’m picking up Nick’s shifts this week, which means mostly late nights. But I could get out for dinner, probably. Maybe some lunches, too, once Tim is up to speed and can handle things.”

“Okay.”

“And we’re closed Christmas Eve and Christmas.”

She brightened. “Perfect. I’ll plan something for us.”

“Sounds good,” he said. He fleetingly wondered if Tim had any holiday plans, and decided to ask him. He didn’t know what he would do about it, but the idea of Tim spending Christmas alone pained him. It also reminded him that he needed to pick up Tim’s Christmas present, and finish securing his birthday present, since the twenty-seventh was approaching quickly.

“You could — if you thought it would make sense — stay with me, you know. Or I could stay here,” Liz said drawing his attention back to her.

He quickly shook his head. “With my work schedule it doesn’t make sense for me to stay with you, or for you to stay here.” He didn’t say that he didn’t want her there because he didn’t want Tim to have to deal with that, but the thought of the two of them under the same roof any longer than necessary made him ill. “ Tell you what, I’ll come over to your place for Christmas Eve.”

“I’ll make us dinner. Something special.” She smiled hopefully, and he smiled back.

“That sounds nice.” He glanced at his watch. “Okay, I should go. I’ll...call you later?”

“Sure,” she said.

He awkwardly waved, then left her standing in the bedroom and descended the stairs.

He found Tim pacing the living room, coat and boots already on. When he entered, Tim whirled around. His gaze wandered up the stairs, as if he were looking for Liz to be coming down as well.

“Okay, let’s go,” said Armie. He didn’t comment on Liz’s whereabouts or their earlier conversation. They could get into that in a bit. As soon as he figured out how in the hell he was going to break the news to Tim about the baby.

The thought made his stomach roll. He hated to think how Tim would feel, and what he would do when he heard what was happening. But Armie knew he had to be as up front as possible, especially if there was any chance at all that he would come out the other side of this will Tim still by his side, in whatever capacity.

He opened the door and gestured for Tim to lead the way. Once outside, they began the short journey to _Cor Cordium._ Usually, when walking in, they strode side by side on the narrow sidewalk, not caring that they were in each other’s personal space, occasionally bumping elbows or brushing shoulders.

This morning, however, Tim had chosen to walk in the street, placing a few feet between them.

They walked most of the way along the quiet, tree-lined streets in silence, as Armie tried desperately to figure out how to start the difficult conversation he knew was coming.

Eventually, he looked up at the bare tree branches overhead and heaved a sigh of frustration.

Tim looked over. “Everything okay?” he asked.  

“No,” said Armie truthfully. “Everything is totally fucked up, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Tim seemed a little surprised at that. “Can I...is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, his voice earnest and concerned.

Armie stared at him. The damned kid was actually going to put his own feelings aside in order to try to comfort Armie, who — for all Tim knew — might be about to break his heart.

“I’m not sure there is,” said Armie. “I do need to talk to you, specifically, about it. It affects you...at least, insofar as...well, as what we were talking about last night.”

Tim grimaced and looked away. That was concerning.

Armie continued. “But honestly, I also could use a friend to listen and...help me get my head straight. I’m just not sure if it’s fair — or possible — to ask you to be that in this case.”

Tim tucked his head down and focused on his feet, scuffing them through the brittle fallen leaves as he trudged. “I am your friend,” he said. “That’s what we had figured out wasn’t, like, up in the air. Didn’t we?”

“We did,” said Armie, a little relieved to hear Tim reiterate it.

“So,” said Tim, “what’s going on?”

Armie took a deep breath. “I broke up with Liz last night,” he began.

Tim stopped in his tracks.

As soon as Armie realized Tim was no longer moving forward, he stopped as well, turning to face Tim, who was peering at him.

“That’s...I’m sorry, what was going on this morning? _That’s_ what you guys breaking up looks like?” asked Tim.

“Not exactly,” said Armie. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Oh. Right. Complicated. That’s what you said in your text.” Tim kicked at some leaves, and they skittered along the asphalt before swirling to a stop.

“I did break up with her. That’s what I had decided was right. I knew, after...after last night, that we hadn’t been right for each other for a long time. The only reason I hadn’t done it already was because it was easier to just...keep playing my part. I was focused on the pub, and being a little unhappy and unsatisfied in one area was easier than the upheaval of doing something about it.”

Armie took a single step toward Tim, stopping when he saw Tim tense up. Tim’s eyes were wide and the brightest green Armie could remember seeing them, the color of sparkling emerald in the winter sunshine.

“I don’t want to be the reason you mess up your life,” he said. “That’s the last thing I would ever want.”

“You’re not,” said Armie. “God, Tim. You’re the only thing in my life that makes any sense to me right now. You and the pub, I guess. That’s what I’m clear on.”

Tim smiled hesitantly. “You make sense to me, too,” he said.

Armie’s chest swelled. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to grab Tim up in his arms and feel that _perfect, right, everything_ feeling he had experienced the night before. But he refrained, knowing that it wasn’t the right moment.

Instead, he said, “I want you to know that I wasn’t breaking up with her because of you and me,” Armie said. “I was breaking up with her because of her and me. You just...made it possible for me to wake up and see that I didn’t want to be complacent about it anymore. That there was another road, and it was worth the risk to take it.”

Tim nodded, but then he frowned, hunching his shoulders forward. “But if you broke up with her…she seemed pretty not-dumped this morning. She called you ‘Boyfriend.’”

Armie thought he detected a hint of accusation in Tim’s tone, and while he wouldn’t have expected it, the idea that Tim would be upset at that gave him hope.

“Right. That’s where things are complicated.” He ran a hand through his hair, knowing he was about to hurt Tim and also knowing there was no help for it. “I broke up with her. And she told me that it was bad timing, because…” Armie dropped his gaze, unwilling and unable to look at Tim as he spoke the next words. “She just found out she’s pregnant.”

Tim made a strangled noise, and Armie couldn’t help but look. The kid had gone pale. Even his lips, which were usually a bright rose color, were white. Armie moved forward and reached out on instinct, but Tim took a step back, holding his palms out in warning.

“Wait,” said Tim. “Don’t. Let me...Liz is _pregnant_?”

Armie nodded.

“Fuck. Well...that answers my question,” he said softly.

“Which question?” asked Armie.

“About whether we might actually…” he trailed off, then shook himself, and smiled, clearly making a valiant effort to mean it. “Congratulations,” he said. “Seriously, Armie. You’re going to be a great dad.”

Armie stared at Tim. “A dad,” he murmured. Until that moment, it hadn’t hit him. No matter what he and Liz decided to do, he was going to be a dad. For the first time since Liz had uttered the word “baby,” the full import of that hit him, and he couldn’t help the seed of excitement that sprang up in the midst of the angst in his gut.

“Yeah,” said Tim. “This is going to be the luckiest kid in the world. You’re so suited for it. I’m kind of jealous of him. Or her. But hey…” he smiled, but there was a dull pain in his eyes. “Maybe I can sort of be an uncle. If you...still wanted me around.”

Armie closed his eyes. He could picture it, him and his son or daughter, playing in the park...but beside him wasn’t Liz, it was Tim. Tim would grab the baby and cuddle him close, then tickle him until he erupted in giggles and squirmed away, seeking refuge back in Armie’s embrace.

The image was crystal clear in his mind. He could feel the sunshine on his back, smell the freshly cut grass, hear the tinkling of baby giggles and the huskiness of Tim’s chuckling.

The warmth and the longing he felt at the vision was overwhelming, and he took a breath to steady himself. He tried to figure out how to respond, when Tim spoke up again.

“Unless...if Liz knows about us, _she_ probably doesn’t want me around. I can...you _do_ need me to move out, don’t you? You just don’t know how to tell me.” Tim took a breath and kept talking, even as Armie focused on him and tried to put words together to say what he was feeling. “If I can just have, like, this week, I’m sure I can figure something out.” Tim’s voice shook.

“What? No. No way.” On the heels of his vision of the future, Tim’s words made Armie’s blood cold. That couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let Tim go, not like that. He reached out and grabbed Tim’s arms, as if he needed to physically stop him from leaving at that very second. Tim stilled.

“No? Okay, I can leave tonight if you—“

“ _No_ ,” said Armie. “Yes, she knows. I told her. Or, she guessed and I confirmed it. She knows how I feel about you. But that’s not the point.”

“It’s not?” asked Tim.

“No. The point is, you don’t have to move out,” said Armie. “Please don’t move out, I don’t think I could...just _please_ don’t.” He heard the urgency in his own voice, knew that he had to do everything he could to hang onto Tim and not let him slip away.

Tim swallowed. “Armie, I don’t...what is it you want from me? I need to know.”

“I want…” Armie trailed off. He wanted _everything._ He wanted Tim to be his, and no one else’s. He wanted to know that Tim felt the _rightness_ of them.

He wanted Tim to _love_ him that way he was realizing he loved Tim.

And yet...he couldn’t say any of that, because he couldn’t make any promises to Tim yet. He didn’t want to say anything now that would just hurt Tim later. So he just sighed.

“That’s not the end of the story,” he said. “I broke up with her, she told me about the baby, and I told her that I didn’t think that was a good enough reason to stay together.”

Tim’s mouth dropped open. “But...if there’s a baby…”

“A child will be miserable if his parents are miserable together,” said Armie. “I told her that I’d support whatever she chose, but that I didn’t think we were right for each other, and that a baby didn’t change that.”

“Oh.” Tim chewed on his bottom lip, and Armie nearly lost all his willpower right there. “Complicated. I see what you mean.”

“She asked me for some time,” said Armie. “She wants to try to...I don’t know, find what we used to have, see if we could make things work. She said she wants a chance to change. I guess I feel like I at least owe her, and the baby, that.”

Tim nodded once, twice, then several times in quick succession. “Sure, of course,” he said.

“So I told her we could take until New Year’s to decide what to do, how to move forward.” He saw the understanding dawn on Tim’s face as the kid suddenly saw that morning in a new context. He tried to explain further. “We’re not...I want to try to keep an open mind, but...Tim, it’s a long shot. It’s unlikely that I’ll stay with her, even with the baby. So...I guess what I want from you is a little time. And patience.”

Armie realized he was squeezing Tim’s biceps so tightly he was probably causing bruises. He released Tim and stepped back.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to...did I hurt you?”

Tim shook his head. “I’m tougher than I look,” he said.

Armie smiled. “Yeah, you are.”

Tim turned away. Armie watched as he walked in wide a circle through the quiet street. When came back around, he looked determined.

“If you’re going to give her a chance, it has to be a fair one. Which means I need to get out of your way,” he said. “Which means moving out is the only option.”

“No fucking way,” said Armie. “No. I am not letting you put yourself back on the street over this. I’ll tell you the same thing I told her: this is non-negotiable.”

“Armie—“

“Look. No matter what happens — _no matter what_ — she knows I’m not willing to give you up. I need you to understand that, too. I also want you to know that I told her that, for the next ten days, we would be hands off. No sex, nothing intimate.”

Tim looked horrified. “Did she think I was going to _jump you_ after I found out she was pregnant? Jesus, I’m not a fucking monster, and I have a little pride. And self control.”

“No, no.” Armie shook his head. “I mean, there will be nothing between her and me.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Tim looked away and then back at Armie, examining his face intently. “You sure that’s what you want?”

Armie nodded. “Tim, I haven’t slept with her in weeks. Pretty much since the night...you know. I’ve kind of already been feeling … unconsciously, I think... like it would be cheating on _you._ ”

Tim simply stared at him appraisingly, green eyes wide. “That’s...that’s...I don’t know what to do with that,” he said.

They stared at each other across the leaf-strewn pavement. Armie took a step forward. Tim didn’t retreat, so he tried another.

“I didn’t properly figure it all out until last night,” said Armie softly. He took another step, eyes fastened on Tim’s clenched jaw, the translucent skin laid over defined angles that Armie wanted to run his tongue over. “But I’ve kind of...already stepped off the ledge, here,” he said.

Tim held his ground. “What kind of ledge?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Armie took a final step forward, bringing him within inches of what he wanted more than anything.

“The kind that leads to--” He stopped talking, and watched his hand move on its own through the space between them to thread his fingers through Tim’s curls and cup the back of his head.

He was pretty sure he had stopped breathing a while ago. Tim tipped his head back into Armie’s hand, rolling his neck back and forth and letting out a long sigh. Armie lowered his head. It would only take another inch, maybe two, before he could feel those lips against his again.

He hovered there a moment, and then the honk of a car horn jolted him back to his senses. It must have registered with Tim, too, because they both jumped apart at once.

A car roared by, honking again, and the adrenaline sent Armie’s heart pounding even harder than it had been. He sucked in a breath and dared a look at Tim.

“Fuck,” croaked Tim. “That was close. What the fuck.”

Tim met his eyes, and he saw in them everything that he knew was in his own: longing, fear, frustration, acceptance.

He took another step back from Tim, and cleared his throat: “I had to promise her that you and I would stay platonic for the time being as well, to be fair,” Armie said. He didn’t say what he was thinking, which is that keeping his hands off of Tim now that he had had a sample was going to be one of the hardest things he had ever done, if the past two minutes was any indication.

A parade of conflicting emotions traveled across Tim’s face in a split second. Finally, his features settled into something between resolved and sad.

“This...it’s probably for the best,” said Tim. “Makes it easier. I was thinking last night, after we got back. That this is a little bit dangerous, what was happening with us.”

“Dangerous?” Armie didn’t like the sound of that, despite having thought something similar the night before.

“Yes. For me. I’m kind of in a...position here. As long as I’m living with you, as long as I’m living _off of you_ , I’m not sure it’s a good idea for us to be involved at all.”

Armie felt like someone had just splashed him in the face with icy water. “You’re not living off of me,” he said. “I’m helping you out. Temporarily. You’re going to be back on your feet again, Tim.”

“I know. But...look at what’s already happened. I spent last night desperately trying to think where else I could go if you needed me to leave. Once I knew Liz knew, I figured it was only a matter of time before it all got...yanked away again.” He rubbed the back of one gloved hand across his forehead, then used it to push back his curls. “If we were to...get involved, and it ends badly, I’m going to be right back where I was.”

Armie’s heart shattered a little at the image of Tim lying awake, alone, worried about this. He could have stopped it, by going downstairs, he realized. He should have been less worried about what _might_ happen and been more worried about what _was_ happening.

“Hey,” he said. “That’s not fair. I promised you I wouldn’t just kick you out, and that promise stands. Would you like a lease? We can draw one up, even a month-to-month arrangement, or a three-month renewal, with a nominal rent attached, and then you’ve got protection.”

Tim shook his head. “I’m not saying you’d kick me out. I’m saying...if it goes bad and I need to leave, I won’t have anywhere to go. Not if I’m too reliant on you. For a place to stay, for...for a _job,_ for christ’s sake. If I needed out, I’d be totally fucked. And this...just sort of proves it.”

Armie was trying, desperately, not to let his sanity desert him entirely. But hearing Tim planning for a day when he would want out of Armie’s life entirely made him feel like he was teetering on the edge of a black hole.

He ran his knuckles across his lips, and then spoke, trying to communicate with everything he had that he was being genuine.

“I hear you. Okay? I do. Could you...maybe trust that _if_ that were to happen, I wouldn’t let you be left stranded? That I’d help you untangle yourself from me, if that’s what you wanted?”

“Armie—“ Tim looked stricken, and Armie wasn’t sure exactly why. But he had another point.

“Look, this is so...not the current pressing issue,” said Armie. “Can we worry about this later? For now, at least, we’re just…” he nearly choked on the word “...friends. Until I sort things out with Liz. Right?”

Tim let out a short laugh. “Is that what that was? Because--”

“No, that was… shit, Tim. I don’t fucking _know_ . I just know that I...know where I _want_ this to go, and I know where I think it _could_ go, but I just need some time to get...clear. To make sure I can before I promise you anything. Remember? You said ‘don’t promise’ and I’m trying not to. Even though I want to.”

“I don’t want promises you can’t keep,” said Tim.

“Exactly. I’m pretty sure I can keep them, but it’s only fair to wait until I’m a hundred percent sure nothing else is going to fuck this up. Right?”

“Right. I appreciate that.”

Armie blew out a frustrated breath. “So. You said that, whatever happened, we could be friends, right? That was the whole deal, that that wasn’t up for debate?” He tried to ignore the fact that he was pretty certain he would never actually be satisfied being ‘friends’ with Tim. He could pretend, for the time being.

Tim licked his lips. He looked away and worried at his lower lip again in a way that nearly broke Armie’s resolve. Then he looked back and nodded, his jaw set. “Yes. That’s what I said.”

“Okay. So...for now...that’s what we are. Which means that we just...keep to the status quo. You stay right where you are, stop this fucking talk about moving out, keep working for me, and we...deal with all of this other shit later.” _Please,_  thought Armie, _please just let’s leave it for now._

Tim nodded erratically. “Which is what I was saying. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe it never becomes an issue, because you and Liz...decide to stick it out.”

“Yeah,” said Armie, even though the idea left him feeling more alone than he had ever felt.

Tim made a small noise. “Don’t...don’t look like that,” he said.

“Like what?” asked Armie.

“Like your fucking dog just died and your pub burned down and the Red Sox lost the series on the same day.”

Armie laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t have a dog,” he said.

Tim jumped forward, reached out, and then stopped, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Can I hug you?” he asked. “Or is that... a terrible idea. Is it off limits?”

“It’s okay,” said Armie. “I think we can allow it.”

Tim was suddenly there, arms around Armie’s waist, forehead nestled in Armie’s neck. Armie folded Tim into his embrace, tucked his face into Tim’s curls, and sighed. The coldness and bleak feeling melted away bit by bit. If he could have this, just this, maybe things weren’t so bad.

After several minutes, Tim pulled away. Armie hated to let him go, but it was time. Any longer, and they risked the simple hug turning into something else entirely, if the moment they had shared earlier could be used as an example of their general lack of control.

Wordlessly, they began walking again, this time side by side in the street. Armie tried not to think too hard about how much joy it brought him every time their arms brushed and Tim didn’t move away.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Tim said, a block later. “By giving this every chance you can. A kid deserves to have both of his parents, if possible.”

Armie shrugged. “Yes, but only if the parents are happy. Otherwise, it does more harm than good.”

“Is that true? Isn’t there value to having both parents in the house?”

“I happen to have personal experience in this, and I can tell you...any value is negated by the toxic environment.” Armie hated the bitterness in his voice, but he had long made peace with the fact that he would never think of his parents without thinking of the bad poisoning the good.

“Your parents?” asked Tim.

“Yes.” Armie didn’t elaborate.

A minute later, they reached _Cor Cordium._ Once inside, Tim spoke up again.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine,” he said. “But I’d like to hear about your life. Before. Anything you want to share with me, I’ll gladly listen.”

Armie hesitated. Tim was looking at him openly, like he really wanted to know. And Armie _wanted_ him to know. He wanted Tim to know everything.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s check on the deliveries and inventory the paper goods and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Unable to resist, he slung an arm around Tim’s shoulders and was relieved when Tim didn’t pull away. They headed for the kitchens.

“So tell me,” said Tim, “was it a dark and stormy night when you were born?”

Armie laughed. Fuck it all, for a little while he was just going to focus on this and let everything else take care of itself. He could worry about jumping off the ledge later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: I have zero words written after this chapter. I am sort of possessed by this fic, so I might just keep neglecting the rest of my life and writing and posting, which is why, like Armie, I am making no promises either way.
> 
> Also, you shouldn't trust me when I say things. Writers lie for fun.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie attempts to remain neutral and fails miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look at that! I managed to pull together a short-ish chapter for you today. 
> 
> As always, no promises for the future, but I will try my best.
> 
> Those of you who are cringing after the last couple of chapters can relax a bit...this one is fairly fluffy. The next one will be equal parts angst and fluff, but I promise you the fluff will counteract the angst. We all deserve a little happiness.
> 
> You may also notice the overall chapter count increased by one; at this stage, I am certain I can't finish in 17. I might be able to finish in 18. I'll update as necessary as we go and things expand/contract.
> 
> 100% fiction, obviously.

**Chapter 14**

For Armie, the theme for the next couple of days was all about walking a tightrope. He tried to maintain balance as best he could, knowing that leaning too far one way or the other was the surefire way to plummet to the ground below. 

He didn’t know if there was a safety net down there, and wasn’t particularly keen to find out. 

On the one side, he had Liz and his promise to let her try to recapture what they had lost. He took that promise seriously, and despite his initial reservations, he found himself enjoying the time they were spending together more than he thought he would, and more than he had in a long while. She seemed to genuinely want to remind him of the fun they had once had, and this softer, less obviously calculating Liz had always had the ability to make him laugh. 

She also seemed to be making a real effort to listen to what he wanted and offer support. 

“How do you see the new space fitting with the one you have?” she had asked him over breakfast on Sunday. “I mean, are you worried that it will change the vibe of  _ Cor Cordium  _ too much and customers will feel like they’ve lost something?”

He considered her question as the waiter set their plates in front of them. They had met at a popular place in the South End, arriving early to avoid the Sunday brunch crowds and so that Armie could get back to the pub before it opened at eleven. 

Since Tim had already been opening up with him for a week, it was a simple matter for Armie to ask him to do so on his own that day. Tim had been a little surprised and nervous, but also flattered Armie would trust him so quickly. Armie ran his hand over his phone, thought about sending a text to make sure everything was going well, but shoved the thought aside and refocused on Liz. 

“I’m a little worried,” Armie admitted. “The pub has such a distinctive personality and any big change is a risk to maintaining that. But I think if we run the new space as an extension of the old, the same things that made  _ Cor Cordium  _ into what it is will spill over onto the new space.”

He shrugged, but she was looking thoughtful. “You’re right, I think. After all, part of the pub’s core identity is showcasing local music. Now you’ll just have more than one way to do that.” She smiled. “Also, it doesn’t hurt that there’s nothing like what you’re proposing in Davis Square yet. You’ll be cornering the market, so you can do it however you want.”

They had talked about his ideas for the space, including the ones Tim had come up with. He cautiously credited Tim where due. 

Then, Liz had surprised him by saying, “Would he be interested in helping to run the new space, do you think? Based on what you’re saying, he seems like he’d be a natural at it.”

“It has crossed my mind,” said Armie. He thought back to their conversation from the day before, and Tim’s anxiety over being too dependent on Armie for everything. That was probably what was keeping him from saying yes to Armie’s offer of permanent employment in whatever capacity. To Liz, he said, “I think he’d be interested, but he’s also a performer at heart. So he may not want a full-time thing like that, with so many demands. He needs time to line up his own gigs.”

“He also said he wants to go back to school,” she said. “And working for you might make that financially feasible. With loans, maybe.”

She made a good point, he thought. If Tim was back in school, he could maybe co-manage the new space with Nick, and that way Nick could hire another assistant manager to work shifts at the current space and free up some of his time. He made a note to call Nick about the idea. He wanted to have the pieces in place before he mentioned it to Tim, so that he could give the kid as many options as possible. 

As many options as possible that involved him staying a prominent feature in Armie’s life.

Despite the fact that he enjoyed breakfast with Liz on Sunday, and again on Monday, it didn’t change his initial instinct about their relationship: he and Liz were getting along, but they still had very different visions about their futures.

“How do you see this working?” he had asked on Monday, as he polished off his French toast. 

“How do I see what working?” asked Liz. “Us?”

“Us, and the baby,” he said. “If we stay together, I mean. I already work around the clock, and with the expansion, that’s going to get worse before it gets better. I know you’re frustrated at how little free time I have as it is, and I’m worried I won’t be able to contribute much to child care.”

“Well…” she frowned. “I’m not planning on giving up my career.”

“I’d never ask you to,” he said. “I’m just wondering...what’s the plan? How do we avoid having our child raised solely by a nanny or a daycare center?”

She sighed. “I don’t know, Armie. I haven’t thought that far ahead. I could try to refocus my client list, increase the size and decrease the number, free up a little time without sacrificing momentum. But...what’s wrong with having a nanny?”

“Nothing is  _ wrong _ with it,” he said. “I just don’t love the idea of having my kid be more attached to a nanny than to either of his parents.”

They hadn’t resolved anything in that conversation, but it had solidified Armie’s perception that she wanted the type of life he had been running from since he was eighteen -- one that was fast-paced and jet-setting and replaced real, stable, connections of home and family with fancy schools and staff and vacations.

At the end of breakfast on Monday, Armie kissed Liz’s cheek and promised to call and let her know when he was coming over the next day for Christmas Eve.

“Why don’t you come over tonight after close?” she suggested. “We can spend the day together.”

He considered it. “Maybe,” he said. “Have you gotten a tree yet?”

She gave him a look. “Please. I’ve had my tree up since Thanksgiving.”

“Sure,” he said. “I was just thinking it might be fun to decorate one. I haven’t done that in a long time.” Then he considered what she had said, and rolled his eyes. “You had someone do it for you, didn’t you?”

“Well, I wanted it to look nice,” she said. “A Christmas tree is a statement.”

_ It certainly is if you do it that way, _ he thought. But all he said was, “I’ll let you know. About when I’m coming.”

On the other side of the tightrope, of course, was Tim himself. Armie could feel himself metaphorically -- and sometimes, literally -- leaning into Tim. He knew that he needed to maintain his neutral position, but...Tim was making it very difficult, just by being Tim.

Their Saturday morning conversation had cleared the air between them and served as enough of a pressure valve that Armie felt like they were almost back to normal. It was like before -- before the kiss, before Armie realized that he’d been a blind idiot for months, before he found out Tim had feelings for him, too -- with one key exception.

Sure, they hung out and talked and worked side by side. Only now, there was this dark undercurrent of electricity just below the surface. It colored everything with a vibrant brush, so that Armie was constantly thinking,  _ if we were together I’d grab his chin and kiss him right now _ , or  _ if I choose him, he won’t have to look so uncertain when he touches my arm _ , or  _ I can’t wait until the day that he uses the word ‘we’ and means us, as a unit _ .

That last one was a little concerning, since he wasn’t supposed to have made his choice. But really, who was he kidding? He knew where he wanted things to end up, he just had to figure out how to get there while causing the least destruction and fulfilling any obligations he might have.

On Saturday, Tim had apparently decided that he wanted to learn everything there was to learn about Armie. Armie opened up. He wanted Tim to feel like he knew him, inside and out, so that when the time came, Tim wouldn’t feel like he was taking a huge risk. So he talked.

He talked about his childhood. He talked about his difficulties in school, and his lonely teenage years. He talked about how he came to understand that what he was was bisexual, and what that meant. He talked about his family, his relationship with his parents, his disappointment that his brother had ended up toeing the party line and hadn’t responded to Armie’s attempts to maintain their relationship after he left home. And he talked about why he had left in the first place.

“Was it just because you didn’t get along?” Tim had asked, after hearing about how Armie had spent most of his pre-teen and teen years at odds with one or both of his parents, for various reasons, some of which had nothing to do with him and everything to do with their hatred of each other. “Did you just need to get away from all those negative vibes? Twelve unopened boxes of straws, ten gross each, and one that’s...half full.”

Armie shook his head, noting the inventory on his checklist. “No. I mean, that’s a big reason why I wanted to leave, and why I didn’t want to stick around and be trained up in the family business -- why spend more time with these people than I had to? -- but in the end it came down to an ultimatum. My dad said I had a choice: I could either go to the college he had selected, major in business, and work for him, or I could walk out the door and see how far I made it on my own without his help.”

“So you decided to leave,” said Tim. “What about your mom? How did she feel about it?”

“My mother…” Armie sighed. “She had other issues with me. She wanted me to do what my dad wanted, but she also wanted me to ‘give up my silly, youthful indiscretions’ and ‘find a nice girl who could help me move up in the world and continue on the Hammer bloodline.’”

“Oh.” Tim frowned, brows drawing together as he read between the lines. “She wanted you to stop dating men,” he guessed. “Only six boxes of beverage napkins left.”

“Got it in one,” said Armie, making a note to place an order on Monday. “Obviously, I wasn’t going to do that -- you understand,” he looked to Tim for a nod of confirmation and then continued, “and I don’t know if that alone would have forced my hand. But in conjunction with my father’s demands, it was too much.” Armie laughed softly. “She would have  _ loved _ Liz.”

“Have you ever thought about trying to get back in touch with them?” asked Tim. “Your mom...could still love Liz.” 

Tim ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, avoiding Armie’s gaze.

_ If we were together, I’d put my hand over his until he stopped fidgeting and looked up at me. Then, I’d draw him to me and lay my cheek against his. I’d whisper in his ear, “She should be willing to love you, just like I do.” He’d sigh, and turn his head, and kiss me until all the worries faded away. _

But he just said, “Maybe I’ll reach out someday. But it won’t be because I want to parade someone like Liz in front of her. I learned a long time ago that what my mother wants and what I want are different, and I have to base my life on my happiness, not hers.”

Tim seemed to think that over. Then he said, “You’ve also proven your dad wrong. Look what you’ve managed to build out of nothing. He’d have to acknowledge that. Once you move forward on the expansion, he’d have to admit that you didn’t need his help and maybe he’d even be proud of you.” He went over to the corner and began to move some boxes of bar snacks to get to the shelves in the rear.

“I don’t need his pride,” said Armie. “Seriously, I moved past this a long time ago. It’s not haunting me, or anything.” He hesitated. Tim thought he had built  _ Cor Cordium _ from nothing. Armie hadn’t mentioned the trust. He was about to, figuring that he should just be open about it, when Tim let out a yelp and a tower of boxes came crashing down on top of him.

“Tim!” Armie threw down his notepad and rushed over, pulling the boxes to the side until he could get to Tim, who was rubbing his forehead and looking a little dazed, but mostly okay. Tim laughed, and Armie nearly sank to his knees with relief.

“Fuck, I’m such a klutz,” he said. Armie reached down a hand, and Tim grabbed it, allowing Armie to haul him to his feet. He froze as Armie ran his hands over his arms and legs, patting his chest and his back.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Armie asked. “Move your hand out of the way, let me see.” He snagged Tim’s wrist and pulled his hand away from his face. There was a faint red mark on the left side of his forehead, but it didn’t look too bad.

“I’m fine,” said Tim. “Embarrassed more than anything else. I guess we can say ‘stacking boxes’ is not one of my natural talents.” He looked down to where Armie was still patting his chest. He placed his own hand on top of Armie's, trapping it there, just over his heart. Armie could feel Tim's heart beating, more rapidly than normal. He lifted his gaze until he met Tim's eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, and then a slow, gentle smile spread across Tim's face. “Really, I’m okay,” he said, softly.

Armie took a deep breath as Tim released his hand from its prison. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Tell me if you start getting a headache or if anything else hurts. Come on. Come with me.” He grabbed Tim’s hand and led him out of the storeroom and towards the office.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Tim.

“To the office,” said Armie. 

“Why?”

_ If you were mine, I’d be taking you in there, locking the door, and checking you over properly. I’d run my hands over every inch of your body, checking for any marks I hadn’t put there myself. And you’d shiver beneath me, and I’d say your name, and— _

“To fill out an incident report,” said Armie.

“Do we have to? I’m really fine.”

“We have to,” said Armie. “But think about it this way: now you’ll know how to do it if someone gets hurt during one of your shifts.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I mean...if you decided to come work for me for real.”

Tim didn’t respond, but he also didn’t pull his hand away, seeming content to let it rest in Armie’s all the way through the kitchen.

On Sunday, Armie figured turnabout was fair play and began asking Tim questions about his life. He was thrilled when Tim was almost as open with him as he had been with Tim.

He heard about Tim’s time in France as a child, his attendance at an arts school in New York where he studied music in preparation for going to Berklee, which had been his first choice college for as long as he could remember understanding what college even was.

“So you’ve always wanted to be a musician?” asked Armie.

Tim shrugged and handed Armie a bottle of Jack to replenish the bar stock. “Pretty much. I mean, I’ve toyed with other ideas. I’ve taken classes in production, for example, but...performance is always the thing I’ve been most interested in. That and…” he trailed off as he bent down to grab a bottle of Cuervo from the box.

“And?”

“I don’t know. Recently -- like, in my last year of school -- I started thinking that maybe I wanted to get into music education. I thought maybe I’d give performance a shot, but if that didn’t work out...teaching music is something I think I’d really like doing.”

Armie watched him and smiled slowly. “Yeah, I can see that,” he said. “Would you want to work in, like, a school? Or have your own studio?”

“My own studio, probably,” he said. “I’m not super interested in teaching big classes about music theory or whatever. I think one on one instruction is more my thing.”

“Hmm.” Armie was having a tiny kernel of an idea, but he decided to keep quiet about it and think it over before mentioning it to Tim.

There were a couple of things Tim said he didn’t want to get into. For example, he wouldn’t talk about his last relationship, the one that had ended badly. Armie respected his choice, but he wished he knew what had happened. He suspected that Tim’s anxiety over entering a relationship with Armie had its roots in that last negative experience, and if he only knew what had happened he was sure he could reassure Tim. But he knew that if he pushed, it would only upset Tim, and that was the last thing Armie wanted to do.

On Monday night, Armie called Liz. “I’m not coming over tonight,” he said. “I’ve been working around the clock and I’ve got some errands to run and things to catch up on tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, whatever you need,” she said, though she sounded disappointed. “When do you think you’ll come? So I know when to plan dinner for?”

He thought about it. He knew what he planned on doing with his day -- as long as fate cooperated -- and suspected he’d be reluctant to head out to her place too early.

“How about I plan to come around four?” he said. “That should let me do what I need to do.”

“You haven’t gotten your gifts yet, have you?” she asked, laughing. “Remember, I’m a size two dress and a size five ring.”

“Good to know,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

When he hung up, he turned to Tim, who had just arrived at the bar from the kitchen and delivered two orders of nachos and one burger to patrons seated at the bar.

“What are your holiday plans?” he asked.

Tim’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t...um,” he hesitated, then asked, “Why?”

“Just humor me,” said Armie. “Are you planning on being anywhere tomorrow? Christmas Day?”

“Well, Luca invited me over for dinner on Christmas day,” he said. “I was thinking I’d go over there for a bit.”

Armie felt relieved that the kid had  _ some _ plans. It made him feel less guilty about leaving him alone. He grabbed a new drink ticket from the dispenser and began to assemble ingredients for a sidecar and a margarita.

“Okay, what about tomorrow?” he pressed.

Tim shrugged one shoulder. “I thought I’d sleep in and watch bad movies.”

“Trying to top our bad movie marathon? Never gonna happen,” Armie teased. “Okay, since that basically means you have no plans tomorrow, be ready at eight.”

Tim blinked at him, and then narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“That would ruin the surprise,” Armie said with a wink. He turned and walked away, calling over his shoulder, “eight. That’s a.m., Sherlock.”

He heard Tim laughing as he approached a table with their drinks, and for the first time since last Friday began to look forward to Christmas.

Armie knew he was leaning too far to one side of the tightrope. He knew it might mean he would lose his balance. But he was beginning to welcome it, because he was fairly certain that the he didn’t have far to fall. After all...he had already fallen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to all of you who are doggedly sticking with this story.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, fluff, SUPER FLUFF, a little angst, more fluff, more angst. In that order.
> 
> I am not giving you a Christmas music playlist for this chapter since it's November and I firmly believe holidays should keep to their own lanes. But you do you and listen to whatever makes you happy.
> 
> We're starting to close in on the end, here. I still think I can do it in 18 chapters...we'll see.
> 
> 100% fiction, as always.
> 
> Love to you all, as always. You're killing me with your comments, and it's a good kind of death.

**Chapter 15**

The next morning, Armie snuck out of the house early for a quick grocery run. When he returned, a few minutes before eight, he found Tim sitting cross-legged on the sofa, scribbling away in his black notebook. He stopped and watched for a minute, smiling at the intense focus on Tim’s features. He felt like he could sit and look at Tim working for hours and not get bored. His emotions played out across his features with no filter in this state; if he thought it, felt it, it showed up in the tilt of his lips, the crinkle of his eyes, the arch of his brows, the tensing of his jaw...it was like watching an interpretive dance.

After a minute, Tim tipped his head way back and stared at the ceiling. As Armie watched silently from the doorway, he trailed the top of his pen from his philtrum, over his lips — where it caught slightly on the bottom one, stretching it downwards and then allowing it to snap back into place — around his chin, and down, down, down his long neck.

Armie couldn’t help the tiny grunt that burst from his chest at the sight. He was imagining doing the same thing with his finger, with his teeth and tongue, and _fuck_ it was going to kill him to keep his hands to himself today.

Tim swung his head to the side and smiled. “Morning,” he said. His eyes widened slightly, and Armie knew he must have been staring intently. “How...how long have you been there?”

“Not long enough,” muttered Armie. He pulled himself together and straightened up. “You ready, or do you need some time?” he asked, gesturing at the open notebook.

Tim glanced down, then closed it with a snap. “I’m ready,” he said. “Eight a.m., right? Don’t want to make us late.”

“It’s fine,” said Armie. “If you’re in the middle of something.”

Tim unfolded himself from the sofa and stretched. Armie’s eyes fastened on the strip of skin that appeared between the hem of his sweater and the waist of his jeans. He nearly dropped the bag of groceries he was holding. _Shit._

“No,” said Tim. “Actually, I’m kind of stuck on this one. Nothing’s...right.”

“Then…grab your shoes. We’ve got places to be.”

Tim put on his shoes while Armie stowed the groceries. Within two minutes, they were out on the street. Armie led the way out to the main road.

“Did you just start working on it?” asked Armie.

“What?” Tim frowned.

“The song. That you said you were stuck on.”

“Oh. No, I’ve been working on that one a while.” Tim kicked an acorn and it tumbled off the sidewalk and into the gutter.

“What the problem with it?” asked Armie. He was trying very hard not to focus on the way Tim pressed up against his side to allow another pedestrian to pass by.

Tim shrugged, his shoulder sliding against Armie’s, and Armie could swear there was an electric current involved. “Some of it has really just...flowed. But other parts have been a fight. And there’s something missing. I just…” He scrunched up his face, and then tried again. “It’s like I know there’s something there. Something important. But it’s behind a curtain. And every so often, the light brightens and I can see the outline of it, and I think, _I knew it, I knew something was there_ , but I can’t quite make out what it is. I want to pull the curtain back, but I can’t find the opening. So I end up kind of pawing at it, trying combinations of words, and knowing I won’t get it until I can fucking _see_ it properly. It’s...frustrating.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Armie asked. “This way.” He tugged at Tim’s sleeve to signal they were turning right.

Tim snorted. “No, trust me, you’re doing everything you can.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Armie asked.

“Nothing. Really, nothing,” he added, laughing, when Armie raised an eyebrow.

“Well, let me know,” said Armie. He stopped walking. “Here we are.”

“Here we—“ Tim stopped, his mouth falling open as he took in the lot in front of him filled with Christmas trees. His face broke out in a wide grin. “Dude, are we getting a Christmas tree? No way!”

Armie laughed, a deep belly laugh that he could feel in his toes. “Yes way. Good idea?”

“The best idea. Come on.” He grabbed Armie’s hand and pulled him toward the rows of Blue Spruce, Scotch Pine, and Douglas Fir.

Armie let Tim take the lead, watching the kid’s delight and excitement bubble over. Tim seemed younger suddenly, less burdened and weary.

Armie wanted him to be like this all the time. _He_ wanted to be the one to _make_ Tim like this.

“This one,” said Tim, after a while. He stepped back and looked at it, then walked around it, running his hands over the branches.

“What are you doing?” asked Armie.

“Checking to make sure it’s still alive enough to last,” said Tim. “You don’t want too many needles falling off when you do this.” He brushed the branches again, then reached deep inside the tree to grasp the trunk and shook it. “See? This one’s good. Almost no needles came off.”

“How did you learn how to do that?” asked Armie. This kid was never going to stop surprising him.

Tim shrugged and frowned slightly, scuffing the ground with his toe. “I don’t remember. My dad, probably. How come you don’t know?”

“I’ve never picked out a Christmas tree before,” Armie said.

“Never?”

“We had people do that for us,” Armie explained. “And since I moved out here...I’ve never bothered. Liz isn’t really into the whole homegrown Christmas thing.”

“Oh. Well...this is the one we want. You’ll just have to trust me. How high are your ceilings?”

“Uh...Ten feet, maybe?”

Tim nodded, and then waved over the lot manager. “We want this one,” he said. “Eight feet.”

The manager nodded. He gripped the tree’s trunk and hefted it off the rack. They followed him across the lot, watched him measure and saw off part of the trunk, and wrap the tree in netting.

Armie paid for the tree, and then grinned at Tim.

“Ready to use your muscles?” he asked.

Tim took up his place at the top of the tree and Armie at the bottom. “Watch the sap,” said Tim.

They took hold of the tree and lifted. It wasn’t as heavy as he thought it should be, and between the two of them they had it in the entryway to his condo fifteen minutes later.

Armie went to brush his hands on his pants, and Tim reach out and grabbed his wrists. Armie froze.

“Don’t,” said Tim. “Look.” He turned Armie’s hands over, and sure enough, there were streaks of a shiny, sticky substance.

“Sap,” said Armie. “I see what you mean. I better go wash my hands. Wait here — unless you got sapped too.”

”I’m good,” said Tim. “The tip is less hazardous. Use toothpaste.”

“What?”

“To get the sap off. Soap won’t do it. But toothpaste works.”

Armie stared at Tim. “Again, I ask: who _are_ you?”

Tim’s laughter followed him up the stairs.

A few minutes later, Armie descended the stairs. “Okay,” he said. “We can’t bring the tree up until we have a place to put it. And we can’t decorate it until we have decorations. So...let’s get moving.”

Tim actually jumped up and down, and Armie laughed. He couldn’t resist reaching out and ruffling Tim’s curls, but then he snatched his hand back. Best not to go there, the way he was feeling.

They spent the next hour wandering around the local Target, filling a cart with a stand, multi-colored balls, lights, and a sparkling star for the top. He let Tim do most of the choosing. He was having too much fun watching _Tim_ have fun.

This was the best idea he’d ever had, he thought.

Finally, Armie pointed to the bins of individual ornaments. “What about these?” he asked. He wandered over and poked around, pulling out a little ceramic dog in a Santa hat. “These are cute. Might be cool to have some ornaments that aren’t all the same. We should pick out some of these.”

“But that’s not how you do it,” said Tim.

“That’s not how you do what?”

“These kind...you don’t just buy a bunch all at the same time like with the balls. You _collect_ these.” He reached into a bin and pulled out a small frame that said, _Baby’s First Christmas_ across the top. “You get something like this when you have your first kid.” He dropped it back in the bin and picked up a little football with a Patriots logo. “Or someone gives you this as a present. Like that. Then, over time, you have a collection of ornaments that are also…”

“Memories?” suggested Armie.

“Right. Exactly. You’ve seriously never...”

Armie scratched the back of his neck, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. “We got to decorate the tree when I was a kid,” said Armie. “But it was always with ornaments someone had picked out. To make a...statement,” he realized. “We rented the ornaments each year, so next year we could have something totally different.”

“Oh.” Tim frowned. “Sort of takes the fun out of it.”

“Yeah. So...I have an idea.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Another one?”

“You go pick out an ornament for me, and I’ll pick one out for you. Then...we’ll each have the start of our collection.”

Tim grinned. “You’re on.”

Ten minutes later, they were ready to check out.

“Let’s not show each other yet,” Tim said, carefully holding his chosen ornament behind his back. “I’ll go to a separate line.”

“Okay. You need cash?“

“I got it,” said Tim. “Meet you out front.”

Back at the condo, they wrestled the tree up the stairs and managed to get it into the tree stand without any mishaps.

“Okay, I’m starving,” said Armie. “You?”

“Yes. And...coffee?”

“Definitely coffee.”

Without discussing it, they moved to the kitchen and began gathering ingredients. Tim set up the coffee while Armie slid the bread into the toaster. Tim fried the bacon while Armie scrambled the eggs. A short while later they were sitting in the dining room, munching away.

“What made you decide you wanted a tree?” asked Tim. “On Christmas Eve?”

“I don’t know,” Armie lied, speaking around a mouthful of toast. “I was just thinking that it had been a while since I...did anything like that.”

“You’re not going to even be here, though,” said Tim. “Maybe you should have — not that I’m complaining — maybe you should have brought it to Liz’s place. Aren’t you going there later?”

“Yeah. Later. She already has a tree.”

“Oh. It just seems like a shame that you won’t get to enjoy it.”

Armie took a sip of coffee and settled his gaze on Tim. “You will.”

Tim gazed back. He smiled slowly. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah. I will. Thanks.”

Armie felt Tim’s foot nudge his under the table. He pushed back his chair and stood.

“Okay,” he said. “I hope you know how to put lights on this thing, because I think we’ve established I have zero useful knowledge in this arena.”

“I got your back,” said Tim, rising from his own seat and grabbing the plates. “The key is that you have to start with a layer on the inside and then do a layer closer to the outside. Gives your tree depth.”

Armie grinned. “I’m glad I’ve got you around. Wouldn’t want a tree without _depth.”_

Tim threw a napkin at his head.

After an hour and some colorful cursing — on Armie’s part, while Tim giggled so hard tears formed — the lights were up and the tree was decorated. With everything but the individual ornaments they had picked out.

“Now,” said Armie, “I think when you see this, you’ll agree it’s pretty much the perfect ornament to start your collection.”

“Okay, let me see.” Tim bounced up and down in his seat on the sofa.

Grinning. Armie brought his hands from behind his back to reveal a miniature beer stein with a little sign that said _The Most Wonderful Time for a Beer._

Tim laughed. “A beer? What does a beer have to do with anything?”

“Because of the pub,” said Armie. “It goes with this one.” He revealed a second ornament, a little Fender guitar.

“Aww, look at the little strings,” said Tim. “You cheated. You weren’t supposed to get two.”

“I thought they went together,” said Armie. “To represent...your first official paid gig.”

Tim took the ornaments and hung them carefully on the tree. “Perfect,” he said.

“So...where’s mine?”

Tim sat back on the sofa and reached under a cushion. When he brought his hand out, in it was a tiny train on a circular set of tracks.

“It moves,” said Tim. He pressed a button underneath, and the little engine began to chug around the circle, making a small train whistle sound.

Armie smiled. “It’s cute. But...why a train?”

Tim blushed, his cheeks and neck turning a light pink within seconds. “Oh. Well...you probably don’t remember. Or it might be stupid. But that first night, I played a song, and then when we ran into each other again you asked me to play it—“

“Lost Direction,” remembered Armie. “About the abandoned train tracks. I love that one.”

Armie stared. Of course he remembered. He remembered everything about the times he had spent with Tim. He was a little surprised Tim had thought of it. The idea that Tim might remember things as clearly as he did...he swallowed hard.

He took the ornament and hung it on the tree, right in the center. He pressed the button again and watched the train go around and around.

“I love it,” he said.

When he turned back to Tim, the kid was beaming. Armie couldn’t resist any longer. With a small grumble, he grabbed Tim’s hand and yanked him to his feet, wrapping him in a hug. After a moment’s hesitation, Tim’s arms came around him as well.

“Thank you,” Armie said, his face buried in Tim’s curls.

Tim laughed. “I should be thanking you. This is awesome.”

Armie held on as long as he dared, and then made himself let go and step back.

“So...when do you need to go?” asked Tim.

Armie glanced at his watch. It was nearly one in the afternoon. “I have a few hours,” he said. He cleared his throat, then picked up the remote. “How much you want to bet I can find ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ right now?”

“That’s a sucker’s bet,” said Tim.

Sure enough, Armie had the movie on in seconds. “It looks like it just started,” he said.

Tim flopped backwards onto the sofa. “Well, I know what I’m doing for the next couple of hours.” He patted the cushion next to him. “You got something better to do?”

Watching the movie proved to be...difficult. Armie was incredibly conscious of the fact that Tim was sitting inches from him. That he could reach out, put his hand on the kid’s knee. Or thigh. Or…

He tried to focus on the events on screen, but it was almost a relief when he stood and said, “unfortunately, it’s time for me to get out of here.”

Tim nodded, his face carefully neutral. “That’s cool,” he said. “What do you guys have planned?”

“Just dinner,” said Armie. He paused, not liking the sudden change in Tim’s demeanor. “You going to be okay here tonight?”

Tim shrugged. “Sure.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Watch more cheesy movies? Maybe write a little? I don’t know. Don’t worry about it.”

There was something in Tim’s voice that tore at something inside Armie. But there wasn’t much he could do.

“You’ve got Luca’s tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.” He looked up, and smiled. “Hey, seriously. I’ll be fine. It’s not the first night I’ve spent alone.”

“It’s the first Christmas you’ve spent alone, though. Right?” Armie silently cursed the deal he had made with Liz.

“Sure. But it’s really okay. It’s not a big deal.”

Tim was doing his best to put on a brave face, but Armie could tell that’s what it was. It made sense. A year ago, the kid had been home with his family for the holidays. Now…

“Are any of your friends around?” he asked. “Or did they all go home for break?”

Tim shrugged. “I haven’t really kept in touch with them,” he said. “Not since summer. I don’t...I guess I was embarrassed. Didn’t want him — them — to see me having...trouble. You know.”

Armie nearly called Liz right then and told her to forget the whole thing. How was he supposed to leave Tim?

But then Tim stood, placed his hands on Armie’s chest. “Armie,” he said. “Go. Please. It’ll let me… snoop in all your stuff. Try on your clothes. See if you keep a diary with shady secrets.”

Armie covered Tim’s hands with his own. “You’re sure?” he asked. “Because...I can stay.”

“Absolutely not. This has been awesome. I’m going to sit here next to this fucking tree, and eat fucking sugar cookies until I get sick, and watch fucking Elf for the fiftieth time, and then fall into a fucking sugar coma and pass out.”

Armie laughed. “Okay. But if...if you  _fucking_ change your mind, or you need anything, just call.”

“You too,” said Tim.

"I have a real gift for you," said Armie. "Do you want it now? You could--"

Tim shook his head. "No, not now. I have one for you, too. Let's wait until after Christmas. Have our own Christmas. Or whatever."

_Our own Christmas_. Armie squeezed Tim's hands and nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Armie was still having reservations as he punched in the code at the garage under Liz’s apartment building. Tim had been insistent, but the stark contrast between his earlier glee and the clearly forlorn state he was in when Armie left stuck with him.

He’d call later, he decided. To check in. That was allowed.

Liz was waiting for him when he entered her apartment. She looked good, wearing a navy blue dress with a deep vee neckline and a long slit up the left thigh. Her eyes were outlined in a smokey liner, and her lips were cherry red. She crossed the living room, her silver heels echoing on the hardwood floors, a huge smile on her face.

“Boyfriend,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

He let her wrap her arms around his neck and kiss his cheek, but then he stepped back and out of her embrace. “I didn’t know I was supposed to dress up,” he said. He looked down at his jeans and sweater. “I can...change if you want.” he was pretty sure he had a suit stashed in her closet. Or, of course, he could go home and change.

She shook her head and laughed. “No, you’re fine as you are. I felt like wearing something pretty, that’s all.”

“Well, you look great,” said Armie. “And it smells really good in here, too. What are you making?”

“Just a pot roast,” she said. “Simple, but I thought that way I could have it going before you arrived and we’d have some time together before dinner.”

“Sounds good.” He looked around, realizing he hadn’t been to her place in over a month. That was crazy to him, that it had been that long, and that he hadn’t even _noticed_. If that didn’t say something about the state of the relationship, nothing would. “The decorations look nice.”

She had put up a small tree with blue lights and silver ball ornaments. The rest of the apartment was similarly adorned with blue and silver.

Just like her outfit, he realized.

“You match the decorations,” he said, before he could stop himself.

She smiled. “Do you like it?”

He started laughing, and she looked surprised, and then a little hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just never...I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone attempt to match the decorations in their house before.”

“Maybe I should change,” she said, frowning.

“No. I’m sorry. I think it’s cute. Really,” he said. He reached out and pulled her in for a hug. She looked so offended, and he felt a little bad for laughing, no matter how ridiculous it was. “So, what’s on the agenda?”

She seemed to decide to move past his slight and settle back into her quiet excitement. “Well, I thought we could open a bottle of champagne and sit by the fire for a while. Catch up.”

He nodded. “Okay.” He followed her into the kitchen and uncorked the champagne bottle she handed him while she got two glasses out of the sideboard in the dining room. He poured one glass, and then, as he was about to pour the second, he said, “Hang on. You shouldn’t be drinking this, right?”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because...of the baby.”

“Oh. Oh, it’s fine, Armie. A little glass of champagne isn’t going to hurt.” She laughed. “People make too big of a deal over it.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I thought--”

“Who would know better, me or you?” she asked. “I was the one at the doctor. Here, pour me a half glass, and that’s all I’ll have.”

He did so, figuring that she was right. She was the one who had probably been reading up on pregnancy and childbirth. Something he would eventually have to do.

When they were settled on the sofa by the gas fireplace, Liz snuggled into Armie’s side.

She hummed in satisfaction, laying her head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed this.” He couldn’t bring himself to respond, because he felt exactly the opposite.

He asked her questions about her work, and she talked for a while about this client and that one, a problem she was having with a male colleague who seemed to resent her superior position, and some plans she had for marketing her services to some new industries.

She asked about the pub, and the expansion.

“I’m going to do it,” he said. “I called the realtor yesterday, and we’re going to meet the day after Christmas to start negotiations.”

“Do you need my help?” Liz asked.

“No,” he said. “But thanks for offering.”

He didn’t tell her that the realtor had also revealed that the owner of the building was potentially interested in selling as well. It would be a big investment, but he was sure it would be worth it. Moreover, there was a pair of apartments upstairs. They were currently under lease, but he had some ideas about how they could be used in the future. The untouched second tier of his trust could easily handle the purchase, and the third tier would become available in four years. He’d be fine.

Dinner was uneventful, if you didn’t count the fact that Liz sat next to him rather than across from him, and tangled her ankles with his under the table. After a couple of attempts to pull away, he let her, simply because it was too awkward to do otherwise.

She spent most of dinner reminiscing about times they had spent together. He found himself enjoying the walk down memory lane, but with a sort of bittersweet, nostalgic sense. It was a time past, not present.

After dinner, they did the dishes together, and then Liz suggested watching a movie.

“Let me just change,” she said. “Go ahead and pick something out.”

He settled on the sofa with another glass of champagne and flicked through the channels. He eventually landed on _Elf_ , which had just begun. He smiled, thinking of what Tim had said earlier. He pulled out his phone.

_Armie: Guess what I’m about to fucking watch?_

A minute passed, and then a response came.

_Tim: Your language?_

_Armie: Hysterical. You should do standup._

_Tim: What are you about to watch?_

_Armie: Elf._

_Tim: No kidding? Me too. It just started._

_Armie: I know. Buddy is walking through the seven levels of the Candy Cane forest and through the sea of swirly-twirly gumdrops._

_Tim: Don’t forget the Lincoln Tunnel._

_Tim: Where’s Liz?_

_Armie: Changing out of her fancy dinner dress into watching tv clothes._

_Armie: What’s your favorite part of this movie?_

_Tim: Easy. When Buddy puts chocolate sauce on the spaghetti. I’ve always wanted to try that._

_Armie: I thought you like your condiments on the side._

_Tim: Not chocolate sauce. Chocolate sauce is something worth getting soggy for._

_Armie: Whatever you say, freak._

_Tim: What’s your favorite part? Of the movie?_

_Armie: When Buddy runs into the coffee shop and congratulates them for having the world’s best cup of coffee._

_Tim: Why that part?_

_Armie: I don’t know...because I don’t think I have ever been so authentically and earnestly gleeful about anything and it kind of makes me jealous._

_Tim: You seemed fairly authentically gleeful today. I saw your face. You can’t deny it._

It was true, thought Armie. He had been more purely happy that morning than he could really ever remember being. But it wasn’t because of anything they were doing...it was because he was watching Tim have so much fun.

_Armie: You’re right. I can’t._

Liz came back into the living room. He did a double take. She wasn’t wearing yoga pants and a sweater, as he had expected. Instead, she had on a floor-length black satin nightgown with a sheer black robe fluttering around her.

As much as Liz enjoyed the fancy lifestyle she pursued, he had never seen her wear something like this to hang around and watch television. Sure, she sometimes bought lingerie, as a special occasion treat for them both, but this was...unusual.

Moreover, it made him uncomfortable.

He felt his phone buzz, and glanced down.

_Tim: I love it when he decorates Santa land, too._

Armie typed out a quick response.

_Armie: Gotta go. Enjoy :)_

He slid his phone in his pocket and focused on Liz.

“What are you wearing?” he asked.

She looked down, smoothed her hands over the material, and laughed. “This? Just something I picked up. It is so comfortable. You wouldn’t think so, but the satin feels great against my skin. It’s really luxurious.”

With a broad smile, she sank onto the sofa beside him, curling into his side and placing her hands on his chest. He shifted slightly, and she shifted closer.

“Who was on the phone?” she asked.

“Just Nick,” he said. He didn’t feel like upsetting her by mentioning Tim. He knew she probably already thought he had spent the morning with Tim, and was being surprisingly calm about it. The last thing he needed was to upset that delicate balance he was trying to maintain.

Her gaze flickered to the screen. “Is this really what you want to watch?” she asked. “I thought you’d pick a movie from Netflix or something.”

“You don’t like _Elf_?” he asked.

“It’s fine. I just don’t think it’s as funny as everyone seems to.”

He sighed. “We don’t have to watch it.”

There was a long pause, and then she said. “No, it’s good.”

He sat somewhat stiffly throughout the movie, as she cuddled against him, shifting every now and then in an obvious attempt to demonstrate the feel of the satin. When the movie was over, he let her choose something else, in part because she had started to suggest they go to bed. It was still early, and if she wanted to go right to bed...he didn’t want to send her the wrong message.

Eventually, however, there was no help for it. She stood and stretched. He glanced at her, trying to feel something close to what he had felt that morning watching Tim do the same thing. But there was nothing.

She reached out a hand. “Come on, Boyfriend,” she said. “Take me to bed.”

He flicked off the television and stood, but ignored her offered hand. He tried to figure out how to handle the night. This would be the first time they were sleeping in the same bed since the night he tried to break up with her, and that night she hadn’t been so...bold.

A flash of frustration crossed her face when he moved to walk past her into the bedroom, but it was instantly replaced with a coy smile. She let him use the bathroom first, brushing his teeth and changing into pajama pants and a t-shirt.

When he emerged from the bathroom into the bedroom, he stopped dead.

She had dimmed the lights and placed tea lights around the room, so that the shadows flickered and danced on the walls. She was laying on the bed, wearing a lacy blue camisole and matching thong. Her hair tumbled seductively over her shoulder, and she smiled.

“Merry Christmas, Boyfriend,” she said. “Come get your present.”

He couldn’t make himself move, even to look away. He was afraid that if he _did_ move, he’d bolt, running out into the street in his pajamas, without shoes. His stomach rolled.

“Liz,” he choked out.

She shifted onto her stomach, scissoring her calves and displaying the rounded curves of her ass. “What are you waiting for?”

He clenched his jaw. “I thought we talked about this,” he said.

She rolled back over and sat up. “Well...I thought that maybe...things seemed to be going well, and I thought…”

“I told you. I don’t want this to be about sex.”

She rolled her eyes. “For god’s sake, Armie. It’s just sex. And we’ve always had a pretty good time with it. That’s all I’m looking for. To have a little fun with you, the way we used to.”

“And I told you that’s not what I wanted.”

They stared at each other.

When she spoke, her voice was sharp. “What about the dinner I made? What about all the memories we talked about?”

He sighed and shook his head. “It was nice to remember. But...that’s all that was. Memories.”

She slumped slightly. “Oh.”

Feeling sorry for her all of a sudden, he moved to the bed and sat down. He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t let her think that there was a chance for them, when he had become more and more sure there wasn’t. “I’m sorry, Liz,” he said. “I told you you could have until New Year’s. But I don’t think--”

“Stop,” she said. “You said New Year’s.”

He paused. “Yes, I did.”

“Okay then. Don’t say anything else. Let’s just...go to sleep.”

She stood from the bed and walked around the room, blowing out the candles. Then she went to the dresser, pulled out some clothes, and disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.

After a minute, she emerged, wearing a t-shirt and yoga pants. Without saying another word, she slid into bed and turned off the light on her bedside table. Armie got into bed on his side and turned off his light, plunging the room into darkness.

“Good night, Liz,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

She didn’t respond.

He tried to sleep, he really did. But it eluded him, staying just out of reach. He couldn’t point to just one reason, just one thing that was keeping his mind busy. He thought about the expansion, the trust, other things he had set in motion over the past few days. He thought about that morning, picking out and decorating the tree with Tim. He thought about what Tim had said on Saturday, about not wanting to be involved while he was dependent on Armie. He thought about Tim, writing in his notebook, sitting on a stool onstage at _Cor Cordium_ , smoking a cigarette in the back alley, making coffee in his kitchen.

Tim. He thought about Tim.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when Liz spoke up.

“Armie, just...go,” she said. She sounded sad.

“Go where?”

“You know where. You’ve been tossing and turning for hours. I can’t sleep with your fidgeting like that. So just...go. Okay?”

He picked up his phone and peered at the screen. “It’s four in the morning.”

“So? You going to turn into a pumpkin if you go outside at four a.m.?”

He hesitated only a moment longer before sitting up. “Liz…”

“Don’t.”

He got to his feet, gathered his clothes. “Am I...are we still going to get together later today? You mentioned that party--”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I think I need some time to myself to think.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll...call you?”

“Yes. And in the meantime...you still promised. New Year’s.”

“New Year’s,” he replied, even though he wasn’t sure anymore what that meant. She knew -- she seemed like she knew -- that it was over. All that was left was for them to figure out how to untangle and set things up for the future, for the baby. But there was time for that.

He quickly changed back into his jeans and sweater, pulled on his boots, and locked the door behind him on his way out of the apartment. As he padded down the hall to the elevator, his steps quickened.

He had somewhere he needed to be.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a chapter of Christmas Day in its entirety, but things went a little differently than expected, and I ended up splitting the chapter into two. (Thus the upped total chapter count again.)
> 
> Anyway, this is possibly (definitely) the schmoopiest fluffiness I have ever written. I'm going into sugar shock over here. 
> 
> 100% fiction, etc.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Chapter 16**

Sometimes, anticipation of a thing is as good as, if not better than, the thing itself. The planning involved in taking an exciting vacation, the days leading up to an important event, the seconds before a kiss...the rush and thrill of possibility can be utterly delicious.

Armie pulled into his driveway at a quarter to five. It was pitch dark, but for the motion-detecting streetlights, and when he stepped out of his car, the cold wind bit at his exposed cheeks and neck.

For some reason, however, he didn’t feel cold.

During the entire drive from Liz’s apartment, Armie had rehearsed countless scenarios in his head:

_He’d get home, and he’d find Tim up, watching a stupid movie, and Tim would be shocked to see him. He’d stand up suddenly, eyes wide. “What are you doing home?” he’d ask. “Is everything okay?” Armie would revel in the fact that Tim had called his condo ‘home’ and would simply cross the room in three Jolly Green strides and take Tim’s face in his hands. “I couldn’t stay away any longer,” he’d murmer, before swooping down for a kiss._

_He’d get home, and Tim would be fast asleep. He’d peek in on him in the guest room, smile at the way he was nestled under the comforter, and back slowly out of the room. Then he’d wait for Tim to wake up, breakfast and presents ready to go. Tim would gape at him, and then grin and practically vibrate with excitement, just like he was a kid waking up to find that Santa had been to visit in the dead of night._

_He’d get home, and he’d accidentally make too much noise at the door. Tim would wake up and stagger out of the guest room, bleary-eyed, to find out what was going on. He’d blink the sleep out of his eyes, his vision clearing in stages, not quite sure if Armie was really there, or if he was still dreaming, until he put his hands on Armie’s chest._

Any and all of these scenarios were fine with Armie, or even one he hadn’t thought of just yet; he was just anxious for whichever to begin as soon as possible. So if he drove a little above the speed limit, and cut it a little too close to the red light...he couldn’t quite help it. No one stopped him, and if they had, he’d just tell the truth:

_I’m trying to get home to the man I love on Christmas._

Now, facing the door to his condo, he took a deep breath. His heart was pounding as if he had just sprinted from Back Bay, or piloted a racecar, instead of driving in his boring little sedan. He took one deep breath, and then another, telling himself to get it under control or he really would stumble inside and wake Tim up.

After a couple of minutes, he managed to get the key in the lock without rattling it too much, unlock the door, and open it slowly. The condo was dark, which was expected. He stepped inside, avoiding the plank that creaked, and closed the door silently behind him.

He toed off his shoes and nudged them into the corner, then took off his coat and gloves and stashed them in the closet.

Tim wasn’t sacked out in the living room, which meant he was asleep in bed. Armie decided that scenario number two wasn’t such a bad one, and crept towards the guest room. He’d just take a peek, he told himself. He wouldn’t go inside, he wouldn’t wake Tim up -- no matter how much he wanted to -- he wouldn’t make any noise. He’d just check on the kid and then go put on a pot of coffee. Maybe he’d assemble a breakfast casserole. He was pretty sure there were ingredients for a French toast bake. He’d start a fire in the fireplace and then snooze on the sofa until Tim woke up.

Armie reached out and placed his hand on the doorknob. He was holding his breath, but he couldn’t quite help it. Slowly, he turned the knob and inched the door open.

It was dark, but the moon shining through the windows was bright enough to illuminate the bed.

The...empty bed.

The pounding of Armie’s heart seemed louder now, faster, in the silent, empty room. His breath caught in his throat.

_No._

Armie looked wildly around the room. He felt a surge of relief when he saw Tim’s duffle, splayed open in the corner. A few haphazard piles of clothing on the desk chair, on the floor by the bathroom. A book on the nightstand.

Evidence of Tim remained. He hadn’t _left_ left.

But...where was he? Where could he have gone?

Disastrous scenarios -- which were much less fun to anticipate -- flew through Armie’s head. He had gone out for a pack of cigarettes and been mugged. He had gotten a call from the old boyfriend, and since he was feeling alone and sad, he gave in and went to see the bastard. He had gone for a long walk, gotten too cold, and went delirious with hypothermia.

Armie shook his head, trying to get a grip on himself. There had to be a logical explanation, he just had to figure it out.

He flipped on the light and looked around the room, but didn’t see a note or anything that would explain Tim’s absence. So he left the guest room and went back out into the living room, the dining room, the kitchen. Nothing.

He poked his head in the office -- empty -- before climbing the stairs to the second floor. The upstairs den, which he rarely used, and seemed to be a place to collect odds and ends, was empty.

Armie was at a loss. He pulled out his phone, and pulled up Tim’s information.

_Armie: Where are you?_

He waited a minute, but got no response.

_Armie: Seriously, Tim...you’re scaring me._

Nothing.

Feeling baffled, worried, and helpless -- and disappointed beyond belief that none of the scenarios had even come close to being real -- he trudged into his bedroom, thinking he’d try to get some sleep before thinking this through again. Maybe Tim would come back in the morning.

He pushed open the door and entered the room, reached for the light switch, and nearly tripped over something on the floor. He just barely refrained from shouting out a curse, and bent down to see what had almost taken him out.

It was...Tim’s guitar.

Anticipation shot through his gut like a bolt of electricity. He slowly raised his head.

Like downstairs, there was enough moonlight in the room to see well enough. And what Armie saw made the breath whoosh out of him in a painful gust.

There, in his bed, comforter pulled up around him, head nestled on Armie’s pillow, was Tim.

Armie moved toward the bed as quickly as he could without making a sound, so that he could get a closer look. Tim looked content, peaceful. His mouth was slightly open, and he was breathing deeply, his nose turned toward the pillow. His curls were sprawled haphazardly over his face.

As he looked, Armie felt heated moisture pricking at the corner of his eyes. Tim was in his bed. _Tim_ was _in_ his _bed._ He tried to imagine what would have prompted this event -- had Tim been cold downstairs, and forgotten how to adjust the thermostat? Was there something wrong with his bed?

Or...had he been missing Armie so much that he…

Armie’s breath caught in his throat. Any thought of leaving Tim alone and letting him sleep fled. He reached out and brushed the curls away from Tim’s face, trailing his fingers on the kid’s porcelain skin. Tim didn’t react, so Armie got a little bolder. He traced Tim’s eyebrows, ran his thumb across his chin. Tim sighed softly.

He couldn’t take it any longer. All that anticipation, everything that he had been yearning for and hoping for, was within his grasp. He quietly removed his jeans and socks and pulled his sweater over his head, leaving his t-shirt behind. Then he lifted the covers.

He grinned. Under the comforter, Tim was clutching his black notebook. Gently, trying not to disturb him, Armie pulled it free. It released from Tim’s grasp easily, his hands limp and pliant. Armie set the notebook on the floor beside the bed, then in one smooth motion, climbed under the covers.

As soon as Armie’s body slid against his, Tim stirred, but didn’t wake. Instead, he curled towards Armie, hands seeking Armie’s chest and sliding around his back. Armie pulled Tim close against him and nearly cried with gratitude when Tim nuzzled into his neck. He kissed the top of Tim’s head and burrowed further under the covers.

_Anticipation had absolutely nothing on reality,_ he thought.

Then he closed his eyes and found sleep for the first time that night.

Nearly three hours later, Armie returned to consciousness as the bundle of Tim in his arms began to move.

His first thought was _I’m holding Tim in my bed_ . His second thought was _thank fucking god._

Armie opened his eyes and smiled down at Tim, who was squirming. The fingers of Tim’s left hand trailed up Armie’s back, then curled along his ribs to ultimately flatten against his chest. Armie shivered at the contact, and stroked his own hand down Tim’s spine.

“Armie,” murmured Tim, scrunching Armie’s shirt between his fingers and then releasing it. He turned his head, rubbing his cheek against Armie’s collarbone.

The sound of his name on Tim’s lips, in that rough, sleepy tone, was enough to make him quake from his crown to his soles. He reveled in the feeling, and in the sensation of Tim shifting slowly against him, burrowing closer.

He smoothed a finger along Tim’s jaw, then hooked it under his chin and tilted his face up. Armie ran his nose along Tim’s eyebrow, then down his temple, tucking a curl out of the way as he went. He inhaled slowly, pausing a moment at Tim’s cheek, and then nudged his way back up until their noses were aligned and their lips were a breath apart.

“Tim,” he whispered, finally, in response.

Tim gave a low moan, and shifted forward a millimeter until their lips were touching. Touching, but not moving. Armie couldn’t breathe, the anticipation was so thick in his lungs. Slowly, barely daring to move for fear of breaking the spell, he pressed his lips into Tim’s. Slowly, so slowly Armie thought he might be imagining it, Tim responded.

Armie drew in a breath, and it was all Tim. He felt like he was surrounded, and was transported, once again, to that incredible first kiss in the _Cor Cordium_ office. Unable to hold back any longer, he parted his lips and let out a strangled sound of thanks when Tim parted his own in response.

The kiss was as agonizingly slow as every other movement had been, but it was no longer torture. Instead, Armie felt like he was savoring every moment, every slide of Tim’s tongue against his, every sigh and scrape of teeth. His hand wound its way up into Tim’s hair, and he felt Tim’s hand trail down his back to grab the hem of his t-shirt, fingers curling underneath so that his knuckles grazed the skin of Armie’s lower back.

_Fuck_ , that was amazing. He had to use every ounce of control in him to refrain from rolling Tim onto his back, doing something about his hardening dick and the second hard length he felt pressing against his thigh.

After a while, they broke apart, and Tim’s eyes fluttered open. Pools of golden green gazed up at him, and Tim smiled sleepily.

“Armie,” he murmured again, his voice tinged with wonder.

“Morning,” said Armie, his own voice thick and heavy, rumbling from deep in his chest. “Merry Christmas.”

Coming fully awake in an instant, Tim stiffened, and then pushed back against Armie, raising his head. His eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” he said. “Shit, I -- Armie, I didn’t mean -- I shouldn’t be -- I’m sorry --”

“Hey,” said Armie. “It’s okay. What are you sorry about?” His stomach dropped and he released the kid, suddenly sure that he had overstepped by getting into bed and cuddling and then _kissing_ Tim. What had he been thinking? Tim had been asleep. Had he really been so far gone in his own fantasies that he had forgotten that Tim hadn’t actually said he wanted to be with Armie? That they hadn’t talked about it again since last weekend, when Tim had said it was better that they had to wait?

Tim was turning a deep shade of pink, from his collar all the way out to his ears.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been in your bed. I don’t know -- I was just -- _shit._ ” He scrambled backwards off of the bed, averting his eyes. His words registered, and Armie sat up and held out a hand.

“Wait,” he said. “Just...wait. I’m not mad. I’m -- Tim _._ ” His face relaxed into a smile of relief. Tim wasn’t upset with _him_. He was scared Armie was the one angry. He’d straighten that out in a second. “Come back. Please.”

Tim glanced up at him, and then away. “I should probably go back downstairs.”

“Why?”

“Because you...this is your _bed_ , and I thought you weren’t coming home today, and -- not that that’s an excuse or anything -- but now you think I’m creepy, or a complete loser, or --”

“Tim. _Timmy._ ” Armie shifted closer to Tim’s side of the bed. “Please stop. I don’t think anything like that. I’m not upset. I thought...god, do you have _any_ idea what I felt when I came home and saw you here?”

Tim swallowed, and shook his head.

Armie laughed softly. “I couldn’t believe how lucky I was,” Armie said. “I felt like...there was no way I could deserve to have you here. It just about brought me to my knees, I was so…”

Tim raised his gaze to Armie’s slowly. “What?” he asked.

“Let me ask you a question. When you woke up, did it seem like I was upset?”

Tim cocked his head to the side. “You were...I was…” His shoulders relaxed, and a small smile crept onto his face. “No, I guess not.”

“I wasn’t. Jesus. I was fucking thrilled.”

“Oh.” Tim’s blush deepened. “Yeah?”

“Couldn’t you tell?” he shook his head, grinning in amusement. “Now...could you please come _back_?” Armie scooted back to his side and held the comforter up in invitation.

Slowly, Tim shuffled back towards the bed. Then, all at once, he was in Armie’s embrace once more, his face buried in Armie’s chest and his arms snaking around Armie’s back. There were several seconds of stiffness, and then they both relaxed as one, letting out long, twin sighs as they sank into each other’s warmth.

This. This was what he had been waiting for. Armie began to trace slow, looping circles on Tim’s back, and Tim sighed again, gripping the back of Armie’s t-shirt and nuzzling his way up to Armie’s neck.

“As I was saying,” murmured Armie, “Merry Christmas.”

Tim’s shoulders shook as he laughed lightly. “Merry Christmas,” he responded, his breath tickling the sensitive skin at Armie’s throat.

“So, what made you come up here?” asked Armie. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m fine. I just...I went to bed, but…” Tim shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. It was sort of ridiculous how much I couldn’t sleep. So I got up again and tried to write, but that didn’t work. I took my notebook and guitar and wandered around the house, but I was just…”

He trailed off, and Armie flattened his palm against Tim’s back, running it from just below his neck to the base of Tim’s spine. He could feel the edge of Tim’s t-shirt, and when he ran his hand back up, the shirt inched up with it.

“Mmmm,” said Tim, stretching under his palm. “That feels nice.”

“So you wandered around the house…” prompted Armie.

“Nothing felt right. I was kind of antsy, I guess. Like there were actually ants crawling just under my skin. And I had come up here to the den, and your room was there, and I just thought I’d step in for a second.” He huffed out a breath. “But your bed looked comfortable, so I sat down and...it worked. I was able to write for a while. I finally started to feel sleepy, and I was so comfortable...and I didn’t think you’d be home so I thought -- hey.” Tim pulled back and peered up at Armie. “Why _are_ you home? Are you okay? What happened?”

Armie grinned. It had happened. Tim had called his place home again. It warmed him from the inside.

“I’m fine, nothing happened.” He frowned. “Well, not _nothing_ , but...it just wasn’t working, and Liz was -- she told me to come home. I think she knew that’s what I wanted. So I did.”

“She told you to come home?”

“Yeah. You know, I couldn’t sleep either. I think I was driving her crazy, tossing and turning for hours.”

“Huh.” Tim nestled back into Armie’s neck, which seemed to be his favorite spot. Armie wasn’t about to complain.

“I’m glad you were able to sleep in here,” said Armie.

Tim turned his head then, and mumbled something into Armie’s shirt.

“What was that?” asked Armie.

Pulling back, Tim bit his lip, then said, “It smelled like you.”

With a groan, Armie grabbed Tim’s chin and kissed him again. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

After a few minutes, they came up for air, and Tim frowned, looking troubled. Armie tapped him between the eyes. “What’s happening in there?” he asked.

“Nothing, I just remembered...Liz.”

“Liz? Why are you thinking about Liz?” asked Armie. Liz was the last person he wanted to be thinking about.

“You said that nothing happened. That she told you to come home, because you couldn’t sleep. But...before that...and you didn’t...it’s still the same, right?”

Armie took some comfort in the fact that Tim wasn’t pulling away. Nevertheless, he tightened his grip on the kid before speaking.

“ _Nothing happened_ ,” he said. “In any sense. We talked, we had dinner, we watched a couple of movies, and then we went to bed. But it’s...Tim, I’m not staying with her. The fact that I’m here, and not there, should tell you I’m serious about that.”

“What changed last night?”

“What do you mean?” asked Armie.

“I mean, on Saturday you said that you had agreed to give her until New Year’s. It’s not New Year’s. It’s not even halfway. So what changed last night?” Now Tim _did_ pull back, slightly. Armie tried not to panic.

“She -- look, I feel the same way I did on Friday night, and maybe what changed is that she’s realizing that. She tried to...she wanted to seduce me, and I refused, and I think she is rethinking...everything.” Armie swallowed. That, at least, was how it seemed to him when he had left.

“She wanted to _seduce_ you? What did she do?” asked Tim. His eyes narrowed, and Armie grinned.

“Are you jealous?” he teased. He reached out and tickled Tim’s stomach. Tim curled in on himself, laughing.

“Stop,” he said, breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” said Armie, delighted at Tim’s reaction. He continued his ruthless assault, dancing his fingers up Tim’s sides. “This is really fun.”

Tim twisted and squirmed, giggling helplessly and grabbing at Armie’s hands. “Shit,” he gasped. “No...fucking...fair.” Suddenly, he lunged forward, landing on top of Armie and forcing him onto his back, trapping Armie’s hands between them.

Armie stilled, taken hostage by the unexpected feeling of Tim’s weight pressing down on him, their bodies aligned from knees to shoulders. They hovered there for a moment, until Armie freed his hands and brought them around to rest on Tim’s lower back. Tim slid his own hands up Armie’s chest and up to his neck, bracketing Armie’s throat with his thumbs and forefingers.

“I’m not jealous,” Tim said. “I have a vivid imagination, and I’d like to know what happened so I don’t drive myself crazy.” Was that a tiny pout? Armie wanted to nibble on Tim’s slightly-protruding bottom lip.

Armie smiled. “Lingerie, candles, the usual. But I didn’t...there was nothing. I swear.”

“Hmm.” Tim moved his hands back to Armie’s chest and pushed himself up slightly. “Good. But it’s still status quo.”

“Sort of,” said Armie. “But I’m telling you, she knows. It’s just a matter of time. And she told me to come home to you last night.”

Tim’s eyes widened. “She said that? To come home to _me_?”

Armie hesitated. She hadn’t, not really, but it had been implied. “Basically,” he said.

“Still…” Tim sighed. “We probably shouldn’t...you know. You promised. And we had that whole other conversation about maybe waiting anyway. Even if you two break up, you still have a lot to sort out. The last thing you need is me complicating things and making her angry.”

A thought occurred to Armie then. “Are you feeling uncertain because of the baby?” he asked. “I mean, it would be understandable. If we were to...try this, you’re not just getting me. I come with a kid and a semi-difficult ex.”

“No, no,” said Tim. “No. I don’t care about that. I just...I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

Armie grinned. “Too late,” he said. He pulled Tim closer again, and Tim laughed, getting Armie’s innuendo. “Listen, can I propose something?”

“I guess?” said Tim.

“It’s Christmas. Can we just...for one day...forget about all the complicated crap and just, I don’t know…”

“Be?” suggested Tim.

“Yes. Just be. Be us. However that is.”

Tim hesitated, then nodded. “I like that. But I think we should maybe agree on a line that we shouldn’t cross. Like, maybe...kissing is okay, but that’s it.”

“You’re no fun,” whined Armie.

“But I’m right,” said Tim. “Come on, this way you won’t regret anything. Besides...sometimes anticipation is its own reward, don’t you think?”

Armie laughed, and with a surge of energy, rolled until they had reversed positions. He looked down at Tim, who was look back up at him with a smirk. It shouldn’t have surprised him that he and Tim were, as usual, on the same page.

“Kissing it is,” Armie said, and dove in, capturing Tim’s mouth.

This was going to be the best Christmas ever...he’d make sure of it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out there's going to be a Christmas Day, Part 3. I got a little carried away here. The good news is that Chapter 18 is mostly written already, so...watch for that tomorrow. 
> 
> In this chapter, I have unapologetically taken an Ed Sheeran song, changed all the lyrics but the chorus, and pretended it belongs to Tim. It was just too perfect. See the end notes to the Spotify link to listen to this song and pretend it's Tim's along with me in this alternate universe. ;)
> 
> 100% fiction, of course.
> 
> Fluffy fluffiness. Overindulge with me, why don't you. The remaining chapters won't all be so fluffy (there's still some hurdles ahead for our boys) so let's just enjoy it while we can. Love and kisses (don't cross that line!) to you all.
> 
> Oh, and I speak super limited Italian (like, think basic travel phrases and not much else), so apologies for butchering that, as well.

**Chapter 17**

Kissing was underrated, Armie decided a while later. He broke away from Tim and smiled, taking in his puffy lips, the slight redness around his mouth -- Armie needed to shave, it seemed -- and the satisfied, hazy look in his eyes.

He cupped Tim’s chin in his large hand and then skimmed his thumb across the Tim’s cheek.

“How are you?” he asked.

Tim sighed. “I’m good,” he said. “You know, this is the third time you’ve woken me up, and I think it’s my favorite.”

“The third time?” Armie asked.

“The first was in the office at _Cor Cordium_ , that day that I--”

“That you were stubbornly refusing to ask for help and therefore putting yourself in danger, which you will never do again,” Armie grumbled. But he smiled faintly, remembering that look on Tim’s face when he had first opened his eyes.

“Right, that,” said Tim, rolling his eyes. “Then the second time was in the subway, when you--”

“Tim, are you _trying_ to make me mad?”

Tim reached out and brushed his fingers across Armie’s lips. Armie flicked his tongue out for a taste, and Tim’s eyes softened further.

“Then there’s today. Definitely my favorite. So, yeah. I'm very good.” Then his stomach growled, and he let out a giggle. “Though I guess I’m starving.”

Armie leaned in and kissed his nose. “Then let’s get you food. Also...it’s Christmas, and there are presents.”

Tim grinned. “Yes, there are presents. Let’s do that. Food and presents.”

“Your wish is my command,” said Armie.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from Tim and rolled out of bed. “Meet you downstairs in ten?”

Instead of climbing out of his side of the bed, Tim scrambled towards Armie. Armie reached out a hand and helped him off the bed, then yanked him close and let Tim kiss him again.

“Make it twenty,” said Tim. “I’ve got something I need to do.”

Then he grabbed up his notebook from the floor and his guitar from where it was leaning against the wall, and bolted out the door. Armie heard him clattering down the stairs, and laughed.

When he came downstairs a few minutes -- seventeen minutes, sue him -- later, Christmas music was playing softly from the Bluetooth speaker in the dining room. Tim was dunking bread in an egg mixture and dropping the soggy pieces onto a hot skillet. He had changed into pajama pants, and his hair was dripping down the back of his t-shirt.

Armie came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Tim’s waist, kissing the side of his neck as TIm’s hair streaked wetly across his temple. Tim shivered, and leaned backwards into his embrace.

“French toast?” asked Armie.

“You always make breakfast,” said Tim. “I thought I’d at least get us started.”

“Okay,” said Armie. “You keep doing what you’re doing.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Tim.

“I’ll just be right here, doing this,” said Armie. He continued to kiss Tim’s neck, nibbling at the tendons, until Tim dropped the spatula.

“Look what you made me do,” said Tim.

“Me? I’m minding my own business over here.” Armie licked his way back up to Tim’s ear, and sucked his earlobe into his mouth. He released it with a pop. “Not my fault if you happen to be in my way.”

“Is this…” Tim let out a whoosh of breath as Armie dipped his tongue into Tim’s ear. “Shit. Is this allowed? I don’t know if this is technically kissing.”

“Eh. Kissing was your rule. I’m just re-defining it a little to suit me better. Above the neck mouth action is totally part of the _kissing_ milieu.”

Tim laughed. “Okay, if you say so. I suppose you’d know,” he said. But then he ducked out of Armie’s embrace, and Armie pouted.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Tim grabbed Armie’s shoulders and pushed him towards the refrigerator. “Make yourself useful and make some bacon,” Tim said. “And I’m going to keep the French toast from burning.”

Armie smiled fondly over his shoulder and obeyed. As he pulled out the bacon and heated up the skillet, he found himself slipping into such a comfortable contentment that it occurred to him: _I could do this every day of my life_.

It wasn’t that it was a staggering thought, exactly. He had known that his feelings for Tim were strong. He had said them, in his head. _Love_. He had thought about a long, long, future. Next Christmas, the one after, the one after that. Hell, even before he had admitted that what he was feeling wasn’t mere friendship, he had been trying to work out ways to _keep_ Tim, to make him want to stay, long after he needed to stay.

He had, in fact, already taken steps in that direction, but that was something to reveal to Tim later.

But now, he knew. He wanted Tim for good. Not just for a while, not just for a long while, but...for the rest of the time that he had on this earth.

He swallowed thickly. Tim was still throwing up roadblocks, wanting to take things slow -- which was understandable, since Armie’s life was a bit of an unknown muddle at the moment -- and definitely had raised the specter of larger issues that would need to be dealt with. Armie would need to take his time with this, not scare the kid away by coming on too strong too fast.

So he tamped down his urge to blurt out how he was feeling and instead enjoyed the feeling of, once again, preparing breakfast side by side with Tim. When it was ready, they ate in the dining room.

“So I wanted to tell you,” said Armie, between bites of heaven that Tim had prepared. He hadn’t realized the kid could _cook_ , too, and now all bets were off, he thought. “I decided to go forward with the expansion of the pub.”

Tim’s mouth dropped open, and then he grinned. “That’s awesome. When did you decide that?”

“Just a couple of days ago. I called the realtor on Monday. We’re meeting tomorrow to negotiate terms. It’s probably a while before it actually opens, because of all the renovations. Also, I need to figure out exactly how the space is going to run. Hire some more people.”

“That’s great, though,” said Tim. “I think it’s the right move. I mean, what do I know, but...as a musician, I’d love having a space like that opening in that neighborhood.”

“Good,” said Armie. “I want you to come with me tomorrow.”

Tim blinked at him. “Me? Why?”

“Because you’re a musician. You’re one of the target stakeholders, and I’d like to get your perspective.” Armie shrugged. “Don’t pretend you don’t have thoughts on this. I know you do, you’ve told them to me.”

Tim hesitated, and then smiled. “I’d love to come with you, Armie,” he said. “Thanks.”

After breakfast, they cleaned up the dishes, and then Tim bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “Is it time for presents?” he asked.

Armie laughed. “Yes, it’s time for presents. I’ll be right back.”

He ran up the stairs and dug some wrapped boxes out of the storage room. While he was making sure the wrapping was still intact, his phone rang. He glanced at the display.

_Nick._

“Merry Christmas,” he said into the phone. “Or should I say ‘ _Marry_ ’ Christmas?”

“You’re funny,” said Nick. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

“What’s up?” asked Armie. “Or are you just calling because you miss my voice?”

“There is that,” said Nick wryly. “No, I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas and...see how things are going.”

Armie paused. “Shouldn’t I be asking you how things are going? You’re the one in the end run to a wedding day.”

“Maybe. I’m fine. Stacy’s fine. Calmer than I would have expected, actually. She seems almost zen for the first time in months.”

“The end is in sight,” said Armie.

“But I’m serious. How are you?” Nick did sound serious. Armie searched his mind for why Nick would be at all concerned, and--

“You talked to Liz,” he guessed.

There was a moment of silence, and then Nick sighed. “She called me this morning.”

“Dude, I’m sorry about that. She shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“It’s fine,” said Nick.

“What did she...you don’t have to tell me. But what did she say?” Armie cringed, expecting the worst.

“She said that you left in the middle of the night to go be with Tim. Is that true?” Nick sounded almost hopeful that it was.

“It’s...yes,” said Armie. “But there’s more to the story.”

“I’m sure there is.”

There was a long silence. Armie didn’t want to get into it, not over the phone, and not before thinking about the implications of telling Nick everything. Up until now, it was just between him, Liz, and Tim, and expanding the circle felt like it might be a betrayal of...someone. Then again, Liz had already done that by calling Nick.

After a minute, Nick spoke. “How about I come over?” he asked.

“Aren’t you doing Christmas stuff with Stacy’s family?”

“Eh. We’ve already opened presents, and they do a lunchtime meal. I don’t know why. I should be free in a few hours.” He paused. “Unless...I don’t want to interrupt anything you’ve got...going on over there.”

The innuendo was clear. “Tim and I are taking it slow,” said Armie. “Because of the complications.” He considered. He didn’t know if Tim was still planning to go to dinner at Luca’s, but if he was, Armie would be free in the evening. “Tell you what. If you’re really going to be free tonight, and it won’t make Stacy mad, why don’t you come over around seven? I’ll make something light, we can drink some scotch, and I’ll fill you in.”

“Sounds good,” said Nick. “I’ll clear it with the lady and text you in a while.”

Armie placed his phone back in his pocket and picked up the gifts. When he returned to the living room, Tim had turned on the lights on the Christmas tree and placed a wrapped parcel under it. He was perched on the sofa, his black notebook open, scribbling furiously.

His eyes widened when he saw the stack of gifts that Armie was carrying.

“Armie, what the fuck?” he said, jumping up from the sofa and letting the notebook slide to the floor.

“Relax,” said Armie. “These go together. It’s really one gift.”

Tim eyed the packages suspiciously. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

“Then open them. You’ll see.” Armie set them on the coffee table, and picked up Tim’s notebook. Before he could look over what Tim had been working on, Tim grabbed the notebook out of his hands and snapped it shut. He set it to the side and sat back down.

“Fine,” he said. “Which one first?”

Armie looked over the boxes, and then passed him the second smallest one. Tim tore it open, and grinned.

“An effects pedal?” he said, excitement lacing his tone. “This is so cool. I’ve never had my own.”

“Now you do,” said Armie. “After watching you work it on Friday I knew you needed one.”

“Thanks,” Tim said.

Armie handed him the largest box. He was feeling a little anxious about his gift choices. He _thought_ they were good, but he wanted Tim to be happy, and maybe he had screwed it up.

“Open this one next,” said Armie, shoving the largest box towards Tim. “Careful, it’s heavy.”

Tim eyed it. “Armie, I didn’t get you...my gift is sort of small.”

Armie waved away the comment. “Will you just open it?” he said. “This...if it’s not right we can exchange it.”

Tim peeled back the wrapping slowly, and as he did, Armie watched his eyes get wider and wider.

“Holy shit,” he said. “A home recording studio? Jesus, what the hell did you--”

“It’s so you can make demos and stuff,” said Armie. “I thought about getting you studio time, but the guy at the store said you can make just as high quality stuff at home, especially if you have production knowledge. Which you do, right? You said you took classes.”

“I...did. Armie, I can’t believe you did this. It’s...perfect. I’m not...I can’t…” He looked up, and Armie saw he was blinking away tears. Shit. Not yet.

“Wait, wait,” said Armie. “Hold on. In order to use that stuff, you need this too. And don’t complain about it, just...accept it.” He held out a slimmer package.

Tim didn’t take it. “Armie, this is already too much.”

“That stuff was surprisingly not that expensive,” said Armie. “Well within budget.” When Tim still didn’t take the box Armie was offering, he opened it himself.

“Oh my _god_ ,” said Tim. “You got me a computer.”

“I told you, it goes together. That stuff is useless without this.” Armie set the laptop on the sofa next to Tim. “And it’s supposed to be good for this kind of thing. I did research.”

Tim blinked at him rapidly.

“You don’t...I didn’t think you had a computer, right? And you’ll need one.”

Tim shook his head. “I sold mine,” he said. “A while ago. This is...Armie, it’s too much. You can’t just _give_ me--”

“It’s my money, I can do whatever the fuck I want,” said Armie. Then he gentled his tone. “Tim...I want to give you everything, don’t you get it? And I can’t give you everything...not yet, anyway. Let me at least give you this.”

Tim nodded. “I just feel like...I don’t want you to think I don’t _care_ about you the way you...I mean, I don’t have…”

 _Oh_. If that was Tim’s concern, he could take care of that in a second. Armie took the laptop and set it on the coffee table, then shifted forward and folded Tim in his arms. “You don’t have to spend money to show me you care,” he said gruffly.

“Well...neither do you,” said Tim into Armie’s neck. But he hugged him tightly. “Thank you,” he said. “I love it, seriously. I never imagined something like this.”

Armie tightened his grip. “We can set up the upstairs den if you want,” said Armie. “Make it a studio. Or you can have the downstairs office and I can move my stuff upstairs.”

Tim made a small noise. “You’re insane,” he said.

After a minute, he pulled back. “Time for your gift.”

“Wait,” said Armie. “There’s one more thing.”

“No fucking way,” said Tim. “You’re trying to make me mad, now.”

“This one’s small,” said Armie. “Relax. Cost almost nothing.” He produced the smallest box, a tiny package.

Tim took it warily, but opened it. “Oh,” he said, looking at the small square of leather. His initials were stamped on the front, just over the leather ties. “Is this a...this is a pick case,” he said.

“Untie it,” said Armie impatiently.

He watched as Tim used his long fingers to loosen the bow and release the case. He unfolded it, revealing three compartments. Only one was in use. Tim pulled the deep red pick out and examined it. When he looked up, he was grinning and his eyes were shining.

“It says the name of the pub on it,” he said, turning it over in his hands.

Armie nodded. “I thought we’d get those as souvenirs from the new space. I thought I’d try out the idea on you.”

“I love it,” said Tim. “I think it’s great. You know, if you had _just_ gotten me this, I would have been just as happy.”

“I know,” said Armie. “And that’s why I _wanted_ to get you the other things. But I’m glad you like it.”

Tim replaced the pick in the case and set it aside. Then he crawled across the sofa and into Armie’s lap, looping his arms around Armie’s neck.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He kissed Armie then, long, and slow and sweet.

When he pulled away, Armie smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

“Okay,” said Tim. “Now you. But...it’s not as elaborate. And if you don’t like it, I can return it and get something else. It’s not a big deal, so just tell me.”

“Tim, I’m sure I’m going to love it. Give it to me.”

Tim scurried over to the tree and picked up the parcel laying there. He returned to Armie and laid it in his lap, but didn’t sit back down. Instead, he hovered, bouncing from foot to foot.

Armie chuckled at Tim’s shy anticipation. He examined the package. It was a small cube, about six or seven inches tall and five inches wide and deep. He slid off the wrapping...and stared.

It was a set of first edition books of poetry by Percy Shelley. Carefully, he picked up the one stamped “Vol I” and opened the burgundy-colored cloth cover. _1839._

“It’s the first one edited by his wife,” said Tim. “She wrote--”

“ _Frankenstein_. Yes.” Armie ran a finger along the gilt-edged pages, felt their fragility. “Tim, this is…”

“Like I said, if you don’t like it, I can get something else. I--”

“Tim.” Armie looked up. “It’s perfect. It’s...how did you fucking know?”

“I just thought...because you called the pub _Cor Cordium_. It’s on his grave, and there’s that story about how his wife kept his heart after he died, and I thought that was...and there was one time when you talked about that poem, the one about the Egyptian king--”

“Ozymandias.”

“Right. And so...you like it?” Tim was looking at him so hopefully Armie wanted to burst.

“I love it,” he said. He carefully set the books aside and opened his arms, and Tim climbed into his lap once more. “I love it,” he said. _I love you,_ he nearly added, but caught himself just in time. Then he frowned. “But...this had to be expensive, Tim. How did you--”

“No way,” said Tim. “You can’t give me a fucking recording studio complete with a computer and complain about how much I spent.”

“I just meant...how did you get the money for it? You didn’t sell something, did you? Because--”

“Shhh,” Tim moved forward and caught Armie’s lips with his. “I had a little help,” he said.

“Who?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s cool. Unless...are you upset because I spent money on this instead of paying you...like, rent and stuff?” Tim suddenly looked very concerned, and Armie shook his head quickly.

“No, I don’t fucking care about that. I just want to make sure you’re not wasting your money on me when you could be--”

“It’s my money, I can do whatever the fuck I want,” said Tim, echoing Armie’s words from earlier with a challenging glint in his eyes.

Armie laughed. “Okay. I’ll shut up about it if you will.”

“Deal,” said Tim. “Besides, I have a plan.”

“A plan for what?”

“For me. For...getting my shit back together.” Tim beamed at Armie proudly.

“That’s...great,” said Armie. “What’s your plan?”

“Well,” said Tim. “I’ve been making some calls, to those bars that had been interested in me playing for them. Two of them are still interested in giving me a regular spot. So starting the second week of January, I’ll be playing at _Bar Exam_ Fridays during happy hour and at _Instrument_ on Thursday nights.”

“Tim, that’s amazing. Seriously, I’m so glad you’re doing that.” Armie grinned. He’d have to make sure to clear his schedule for Tim’s first shows at each venue. He wasn’t going to miss any of that.

“Me too,” he said. “And thanks for setting that up, I wouldn’t have been able to get into those places without your recommendation.”

“My pleasure,” said Armie.

“So I figure, with four gigs a week -- assuming you still want me at _Cor Cordium_ on Wednesdays and Sundays -- and if I get another job, I’ll be able to start paying your rent mid- or late-January, and will have enough to start saving money as well.”

“Another job?” asked Armie. “You have a job.”

“Well...I told you I wasn’t sure about working at _Cor Cordium_ full time yet. I’m not saying definitely no,” Tim said quickly, when Armie opened his mouth, “but either way, with _a_ job and the gigs, I should be in pretty good shape fairly quickly. And I can...you know, pay my way.”

“There’s no rush, Tim,” said Armie. “I mean, it’s awesome that you have a plan and it sounds like it’s solid. Just...remember that you don’t have to go anywhere. Before _or_ after you’re on your feet. I don’t mind if you -- hell, I _want_ you to stay.”

Tim smiled. “I hear you.”

“What now?” asked Armie.

“Well...I kind of want to do this for a while, if that’s okay.” He snuggled in closer.

“Yeah. That’s okay.” Armie shifted back on the sofa and nestled into the corner, arranging Tim on top of him. He reached out and snagged the remote and flipped on the television. “So,” he said, a moment later, “what’ll it be? The original _Miracle on 34th Street_ , which looks to be about halfway done, or _A Christmas Story_?”

“ _Miracle_ ,” said Tim. “ _A Christmas Story_ is on loop, we can watch it later.”

“Sounds perfect,” said Armie. He brushed his lips across Tim’s temple and Tim sighed.

“I might fall asleep,” he mumbled, after a few minutes.

“Go ahead,” said Armie. “I’ll wake you up in a while.”

Fifteen minutes later, he was holding a snoring Tim in his arms, and thought that there was no better gift he could have expected to receive.

* * *

Later, Tim offered to call Luca and cancel dinner, but Armie shook his head.

“You should go,” he said, even though he actually wanted Tim to stay. “Luca is expecting you.”

“But I…” Tim twisted his lips, thinking. “You should come with me,” he said suddenly.

“I wasn’t invited,” Armie pointed out.

Tim scoffed at that. “Please,” he said. “It’s _Luca_. He’s probably invited half the city.”

“You think he wouldn’t mind?” Armie had to admit that the idea of spending the evening alone, waiting for Tim to come back -- even if Nick _was_ coming over for a while -- was unappealing.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t. I’ll call him.” He pulled out his phone.

“Wait,” said Armie. “I invited Nick over, thinking you were going.”

“Oh.” Tim paused. “Do you...you want me to go alone, then? So you can hang out with Nick?”

“Of course not,” said Armie. “But do you think Luca would mind _two_ extra guests?”

Tim grinned. “I’ll ask.”

An hour later, dressed in a navy turtleneck sweater and grey slacks that Tim swore made him look like he was stepping into a photo shoot for a fashion magazine, Armie donned his coat. “You coming?” he called out.

Tim hopped out of the guest room, pulling on one shoe and carrying the other. “Yeah.”

When he straightened up, Armie’s breath caught. “Wow,” he said.

Tim paused. “What?”

“That’s...you look…” Armie shook his head. “I’ve never seen you wear something so...nice.”

Tim was wearing black pants that fit him perfectly, curving over his ass and tapering down his slim legs. This was complemented by a deep green cashmere sweater that made his eyes positively sparkle. As Armie watched, he tugged at the hem of the sweater and ran his fingers through his hair, straightening a stray curl.

“I don’t wear them often,” he said. “They’re the only nice things I have, so...I try to save them for when I need them.”

Armie wondered, not for the first time, if Tim had other things stashed somewhere, or if he really did have everything he owned in the duffle bag. Now was not the time to ask, however.

“Well, you look amazing,” said Armie. He strode forward and pulled Tim in for a kiss. “We should go.”

Tim grabbed his coat and slid it on. “Nick meeting us there?” he asked.

“Yes. He’s on his way shortly.”

“Should I…” Tim worried his bottom lip with his teeth and averted his gaze.

“Should you what?” asked Armie.

“With Nick around. Should we be more...like we were? Friends? Instead of like we’ve been today?” Tim was staring at his feet, his curls hiding his face.

Armie grabbed his chin and pulled his face up so he could see Tim’s eyes. “No,” he said. “We can be exactly as we are. Nick isn’t going to be surprised.” He laughed softly, thinking that _Armie_ had been more surprised than Nick on Friday. “Look, I know we’re sort of...in this limbo place. And we’re in this bubble today, pretending that there aren’t still some things that are fucked up and need to be _unfucked_. But...I want you to know that today? It’s what I want. For real. I’m not trying it out or anything, it’s...so if Nick sees it, that’s fine with me. Okay?”

Tim smiled. “Okay,” he said. “That’s good to know. I think I...already knew that, about what you want.”

Armie tried not to be disappointed that Tim hadn’t said that this was what he wanted, too. He knew Tim still had some reservations, and that those reservations might not go away anytime soon.

They decided to walk to Luca’s, despite the cold. It was only a few blocks past the pub, and that way they could call a cab home without worrying about Armie’s car. Luca lived in a three-story home, similar to the one Armie’s condo was in, except he owned the entire thing.

“He must have made a good investment a while ago,” said Armie, looking up at the festively lit home. He knew how expensive the properties in the area were these days.

“Luca’s lived here for decades,” said Tim. “And his partner is a lawyer.”

“Really?” asked Armie. He suddenly felt bad, realizing that he didn’t know all that much about the older Italian.

“Come on.” Tim took Armie’s gloved hand in his and pulled him up the steps. “I bet he made a feast. He and Federico love to cook.”

“Federico is his partner?”

“Yeah.” Tim rang the doorbell. Now that they were close, Armie could hear music and the sounds of a party coming from inside the house.

A moment later, the door was flung open, and Luca stood there, beaming. He reached out and grabbed Tim’s wrist, pulling him inside. Armie let go of Tim’s other hand so he didn’t get torn in half.

“Timothée! Buon Natale, mio caro!” Luca hugged Tim fiercely, and Armie couldn’t help but grin. He was glad Tim had a friend in Luca.

When Luca released Tim, he beckoned to Armie. “Come in, come in,” he said. Armie stepped over the threshold and found himself wrapped him Luca’s embrace as well. “Benvenuto. We are so happy you are joining us, yes?”

Armie laughed, and it rumbled in his chest. “Thank you for letting me crash your party at the last minute,” he said.

Luca closed the door behind them and waved his hands. “Non è niente. I am thrilled you are here with Timothée. And your Nicola, he is arriving soon, too?”

“Yes.” Armie nodded. “Nick will be here soon. Again, thank you.” He looked around the entryway and smiled at the warm lighting, the art on the walls. “Your home is lovely.”

“Grazie,” said Luca. “Give me your coats, and then go in and Federico will fix you a drink for a change of things.”

He took their coats and shuffled them towards a large room filled with people. Armie looked around in surprise. The room seemed to cover almost the entire first floor of the house, and yet it still seemed cozy. Various overstuffed sofas and chairs were scattered around the room, a fire was roaring in the corner fireplace, and golden lights twinkled on the Christmas tree in the front windows, along the mantle, and were draped along the edge of the grand piano on the far side of the room. Jazz pumped out of speakers along the ceiling.

“Timothée!” a voice rang out from the side, and Armie turned to see a slim bespectacled man in a sleek suit but no tie approaching. He went for Tim first, crushing him into a hug and kissing both of his cheeks. Then he turned to Armie. “You must be Armand,” the man said. “Luca is very fond of you.”

“I’m fond of him, too,” said Armie. He held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Federico batted his hand away and instead grabbed Armie’s face, kissing both cheeks the same way he had greeted Tim. “Friends do not shake hands on Christmas,” he explained. “And as you are here with Timothée, you are a friend. Come, what can I get you to drink?”

Armie let the man lead him through the crowd, introducing him to people along the way. He had lost track of Tim, who had disappeared somewhere early on, so once he had his sidecar, he used his height to his advantage, scanning the room for a mop of curly hair.

He finally spotted Tim emerging from a door in the back of the room, deep in conversation with Luca. Tim was gesturing broadly, and Luca was smiling and clapping Tim on the shoulder. Armie watched them a moment, wondering what they were talking about. Tim looked up then, and saw Armie watching him, a smile spreading across his face. He turned and said something else to Luca, and then threaded his way through the room until he was standing in front of Armie.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi. Where did you go?”

“Oh. Luca wanted to show me the new conductor’s baton Federico had gotten him for Christmas. And I was telling him about the recording studio.” Tim grinned. “He told me to shut up about the expense and enjoy the gift.”

“Luca is a smart man,” said Armie.

“Yeah. He is the one who put us together, after all,” said Tim. He reached up and snagged Armie’s glass, taking a quick drink before handing it back.

“He what?” said Armie.

“Well, when you needed a substitute performer, he recommended me.” Tim grinned. “Imagine if he hadn’t been there that day, or if I hadn’t answered the phone, or if you hadn’t trusted him enough to give me a chance.”

Armie felt his stomach clench at the idea of _not_ meeting Tim. “Let’s buy him a fucking trophy,” said Armie.

Tim laughed. “Hey,” he said. “There’s Nick.” He waved, and Nick, who was scanning the room, spotted them and waved back.

He reached them a moment later and hugged Armie, then Tim. “Merry Christmas,” he said. He looked around. “This is a thing. I didn’t expect it to be this...big.”

“You and me both,” said Armie.

“I did,” said Tim. “Luca knows everyone and everyone loves Luca.”

“Sounds about right,” said Nick. “He’s effusive, that’s for sure.”

“He hug you on your way in?” asked Armie.

“He kissed me. Okay, first things first: where’s the bar?”

Armie pointed it out. “Grab me another sidecar while you’re at it?”

“Sure thing. Tim?”

“That’s what that is?” Tim gestured at Armie’s empty glass, and Armie nodded. “Same for me.”

When Nick moved away, Armie nudged Tim. “Should I even let you drink?” he teased. “You’re not twenty-one for two more days.”

“Bite me,” said Tim.

“I thought that was crossing the line,” Armie murmured, leaning close.

“I guess it depends on where you bite,” said Tim. “Above the neck is probably allowed, right? Involves the mouth, after all...not so far from kissing.” He raised an eyebrow in a challenge, and Armie felt a surge of lust. He wanted to grab Tim and find a bedroom immediately, and replace that expression with something a little more...undone.

Instead, he simply rested a hand on Tim’s back and said, “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you have plans for your birthday yet?”

Tim shook his head. “I figured we’d be working,” he said.

“One of the assistant managers can take an extra shift. I’ll pay them extra,” said Armie. “I’d like to take you out.”

Tim blinked at him. “Really?”

Armie laughed. “Yes, really. Why are you so surprised?”

“I don’t know, I just...it’s before New Year’s.”

“Yeah, I’m not so worried about that,” said Armie. In fact, he planned to get in touch with Liz the next day and talk to her, try to resolve things. There was really no point in dragging it out, and he was pretty sure she knew it. “Besides, it can just be dinner, right? _Friends_ have dinner.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but then he laid a hand on Armie’s chest and looked up at him with a genuine smile. “I’d like to spend my birthday with you,” he said.

Armie grinned. He’d make a dinner reservation, and he had a surprise for Tim that he was fairly excited about. It might help Tim make decisions about how to handle his future.

“Two sidecars,” said Nick, approaching once more. He handed Armie one and Tim the other, and then held up his own glass. “To us,” he said.

They toasted. Armie noticed Tim had removed his hand and stepped slightly away from him when Nick arrived. He also remembered what Tim had asked earlier, about acting more like friends than they had been all day.

He wrapped his arm around Tim’s shoulders and pulled him tight to his side. Tim glanced at him, but didn’t resist. Nick simply smiled.

“How’re the preparations going?” asked Armie. “Need anything from your best man?”

“Just that you pull off the bachelor party,” said Nick. “Everything all set?”

Armie nodded. “Hotel suite reservations made, dinner reservations made, cigars purchased...we’re in good shape.”

“Are you coming?” Nick asked, turning to Tim.

“Am I coming...to what?” asked Tim. “Your bachelor party?”

“Yeah. You should come. It’s just going to be a bunch of us sitting around and shooting the shit about our glory days, but it should be fun. Monday night.” Nick glanced at Armie, and Armie nodded.

“Nick’s right,” said Armie. “Come.”

“I...okay,” said Tim. “If you’re sure I won’t be intruding. I mean, I won’t know anyone else.”

“You’ll know us,” said Nick. “And I’d like you there. At the wedding, too.”

“Oh.” Tim blinked. “Nick, that’s...you’re sure Stacy won’t mind a last minute guest?”

Nick shook his head. “I already told her to add you,” he said. “No worries.”

Armie thought about the fact that he was supposed to have been Liz’s date to the wedding, but that technically, since the wedding was on New Year’s Day, maybe it wouldn’t matter even if she continued to insist that he had promised to give her until New Year’s. He also hoped that it wouldn’t be too awkward for Tim.

He decided to worry about all of that later.

“Timothée,” called Luca, waving from the doorway. “Come. I need you to meet some friends of mine.”

“Duty calls,” said Tim. “See you.” Seemingly without thinking, he leaned up and kissed Armie lightly. When he pulled back, his eyes widened slightly, and he turned pink. Without looking at Nick, he slid away.

Nick chuckled. “Okay, that’s adorable,” he said. “I thought you were taking it slow, but you two...are such a couple already.”

Armie felt a stupid, helpless smiled spreading across his features.

“Holy shit,” said Nick. “Look at you. You are…”

“Tell you what,” said Armie. “I’d like a cigarette. Let’s step outside, and you can ask me anything you want.”

After asking their hosts, they found their coats and made their way out onto a back deck. Another couple was on their way back in, and they exchanged a greeting on the way by. Once outside, they leaned up against the porch railing. Armie lit up a cigarette, and Nick declined.

“You’re going to steal mine again, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Most likely. But then when Stacy asked me if I smoked a cigarette, I can honestly say I only had a couple of drags off of yours.”

They stood in companionable silence for a minute, until Armie spoke.

“How much did Liz tell you about what’s going on?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about the baby just yet.

“She just said that you were having a quarter life crisis and wanted to know if I thought it was a temporary condition or a permanent change.” Nick laughed. “Since I kind of could guess what she’s talking about -- and now I know, especially after seeing the two of you tonight -- I wanted to tell her it was permanent, but instead I said I’d talk to you.”

Armie sighed. “After Friday night, when we….talked...I told her it was over. That I wanted to break up.”

“Because of Tim?” asked Nick.

“No, not...in a way. But we’ve been growing apart for a while. It’s been over for a long time, I think. We want different things out of life. Tim just...made doing something about it more urgent.”

“I figured it was something like that. But from what she said, you guys didn’t actually break up?”

“It’s...complicated,” said Armie. “She...there are other things at stake for her. For both of us. So she asked for time to try to fix things.”

“And you said yes? Why would you do that?” Nick sounded baffled. “I mean, if you were really sure it was over, and had been for a while...I know you. You wouldn’t back down, unless--” he broke off. “Oh, shit. That’s what she was talking about.”

“What?”

“She said that you had responsibilities and she wanted me to remind you that you weren’t the kind of person to back down from responsibilities. Armie, is she fucking pregnant?”

There was a long pause, and then Armie groaned. “Yes,” he said.

“Christ. No wonder you said it was complicated.”

“Right,” said Armie. “So...she asked for time, and I gave it to her. But...Nick...it’s not going to work. We wouldn’t be happy. Of _course_ I’m not backing away from any responsibilities. She fucking knows that. But I’m also not going to marry her just because there’s a baby.”

“No,” said Nick. “That would make no one happy, and with your parents--”

“Finally, someone who understands,” said Armie, with a sigh of relief. “Tim doesn’t really get it. Why I would walk away like that. I tried to explain that it’s a sorry way to grow up, with parents who resent each other and use you to make each other miserable.”

“Tim knows?” asked Nick.

“Yeah. I couldn’t not tell him. He was thinking that what happened Friday was just a fluke, and I needed him to know I wasn’t planning to stay with Liz. I just needed some time.”

Nick was quiet for a minute. “Fuck, that’s a mess,” he said. “But you’re with Tim now?”

Armie smiled. “I am. I couldn’t...she was trying so hard last night, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Eventually she just told me to go, and I came home.”

“Armie, you should...be careful.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...with Tim. Be careful. He’s just a kid, and he’s had it rough. Don’t...lead him on.”

Armie bristled. “What the fuck, man? You’re the one who told me that I’ve never looked at anyone the way I--”

“Calm down, Jesus. I know. I don’t think you’d do it on purpose. I just...he’s a fucking goner already. You could probably string him along forever and he’d just wait and hope.” Nick sighed. “Make sure you talk to him about what you’re thinking.”

Armie had frozen at Nick’s words. “What do you mean, he’s a goner already? What do you know? Did you talk to him? What did he say?”

Nick burst out laughing. “Good to know this quarter-life crisis has turned you into a fifteen-year-old girl,” he said. “That’s between him and me. I’m just saying...don’t assume anything with Tim. If you want something real, here, then get rid of Liz already and go for it. Don’t put it off.”

“I’m planning to,” Armie said. “I’m going to call her tomorrow and set up a time to talk. But she knows. I’m sure she does.”

“Good,” said Nick. “Liz can be annoying, but you’ve got to be honest with her.”

“Yeah. And as for Tim...I know what I want. I’m not stringing him along.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, blew it out into the night. “Fuck, I want it all with him. This isn’t a temporary thing. It’s...this is the only thing.”

Nick threw an arm around Armie’s shoulders. “Then I guess I should say ‘Congratulations,’” he said.

“Maybe hold onto that,” said Armie. “Tim’s...resistant.”

“He didn’t look resistant,” said Nick.

“He’s...afraid to jump in, I think,” said Armie. “There are a few different issues floating around. In the first place, I think he’s nervous to let himself be with me for real until I straighten things out with Liz.”

“That’s fair,” said Nick. “So do that.”

“I already said I plan to. But I don’t think that’s all. He said something the other day about not wanting to be... _dependent_ on me.” Armie frowned. “But he seems like he’ll be self-sufficient again soon, so maybe that won’t be an issue.”

“Hmm. Well, keep me posted, let me know if I can help in any way,” said Nick.

“Thanks, man,” said Armie. “Let’s go in, it’s cold.”

Back inside, Armie sought out Tim. He found Tim standing with a small group of people his age, laughing. Armie hung back, watching as Tim punched one of the guys on the arm. The guy responded by hooking an arm around Tim’s waist and laying his head on Tim’s shoulder. He said something, and Tim tilted his head to rest on top of the other guy’s.

Armie froze. What the fuck was going on? Who were these people, and why was Tim…

Tim raised his head and spotted Armie. He waved, and beckoned Armie over. Warily, Armie crossed through the crowd until he had reached the group.

“Woah,” said the guy who still had his arm around Tim’s waist. “You weren’t kidding. He is tall.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Nice one, Will.” He stepped away from Will and to Armie’s side. When he looked up at Armie, he took in Armie’s expression and his brows wrinkled in concern. “You okay?” he asked.

Armie nodded, his jaw tight. He tried to smile. “Fine,” he said.

Tim peered at him, frowning. Then he turned to the group. “This is Armie Hammer,” he said. “He owns _Cor Cordium_ , where I’ve been playing. Armie, these are some guys I went to school with. That’s Will, this is Sam, and that’s James.”

Armie shook hands and made pleasant greetings. He was mildly surprised when Tim snaked his arms around Armie’s waist and leaned in, resting his head against Armie’s chest. But he wrapped an arm around Tim and pulled him close. On further thought, he leaned down and kissed the top of Tim’s head.

He wasn’t staking a claim. He was just being himself. The boys -- and that’s how Armie was choosing to think of them, and that was final -- took note.

“So, Armie,” said Will. “Tim tells us that you’re expanding the pub, putting in a music venue.”

“That’s right,” said Armie. “Actually, Tim’s given me some great ideas about how to organize it. I’d really like to showcase local music and give unknown artists -- like Tim was when I found him -- a place to get started.”

“That’s cool,” said...Sam, Armie was pretty sure. “So you’d be open to having people play there even if they’ve never gigged before?”

“Absolutely,” said Armie. “With an audition, of course. Tim’s first time was with me, after all.”

Will snickered. “If that’s what he told you,” he muttered.

Armie glanced down at Tim. “What’s he talking about?” he asked.

Tim shook his head. “Ignore him. He was making a dirty joke.”

Oh. Armie got the double meaning, and rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” Tim spoke up suddenly. “He’s not...he’s not coming, is he?”

“No,” said Will. “He’s in New York.”

“Who?” asked Armie.

“No one,” said Tim. “I’ll explain later.”

“So,” said James, “we know all of Timmy’s most embarrassing stories. Which do you want to hear first?”

Armie grinned. “All of them,” he said. “In chronological order, please.”

Tim groaned and buried his face in Armie’s sweater, and they all laughed.

Dinner was a feast, Tim had been right about that. Since there were so many people at the party, it was served buffet style, and people perched on sofas and leaned against walls with their plates. Armie polished off two plates to Tim’s one.

“We need to learn how to cook like this,” he said. He picked up one last truffle from his plate and held it towards Tim. “Open up.”

Tim opened his mouth, and Armie popped the treat inside. Just then, Luca appeared.

“Timothée, Armand,” he said. “Having a good time?”

“Absolutely,” said Armie. “Luca, thank you again for having us. You throw a great party. I should hire you at the pub.”

“You could not afford me,” said Luca, patting Armie on the cheek. “Timothée, could I ask you to please play for us?”

“What? No,” Tim shook his head. “I couldn’t.”

“Oh, but you could. We have the piano, and it is lonely. Neither Federico nor I play as you do.”

Armie turned to Tim. “You play the piano, too?” he asked.

Tim shrugged. “A little.”

Luca shot him a look. “A little? Senza senso. You play like a sognare, a dream. Please, just a few songs. Yes?”

“You should play,” said Armie. “I’d like to hear it.”

Tim licked his lips. “Okay, fine,” he said. “A few songs. You want Christmas music?”

“No, per favore. Something original.” Luca took their plates. “Go, clean up, then take your spot and I will quiet them all down.”

Tim looked up at Armie as Luca moved away. “Crap,” he said. “I wasn’t planning to play tonight. You think there’s time for a pre-show cigarette?”

“What are they going to do, start without you? Come on, let’s get our coats and go out back.”

A few minutes later, they were perched in the same spot Armie had been with Nick, earlier. Nick had left part way through dinner after getting a panicky text from Stacy about her dad. Armie had sent him off with promises to throw a killer bachelor party.

Tim sighed after his first drag. He leaned up against Armie, arms pressed together, and Armie grinned into the night. There was something truly comforting about standing here like this, once again. Even though everything had changed since their last pre-show cigarette, maybe nothing really had at all.

“This has been an awesome day,” said Tim quietly.

Armie glanced at him. “Yeah. It has.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?” Armie asked. He took another drag and decided to try to lean even closer.

Tim shrugged against him. “I mean, we decided to take the day, and just let things...be. But tomorrow, do we go back to normal?”

“Normal,” said Armie. “I’m not sure what that is, for us. Is it you and me working side by side? Talking about life? Thinking about the future?”

“Yes,” said Tim. “But without the...other stuff.”

Armie frowned. “You mean, without the kissing.”

“Right. I mean, things have changed, but have they really? You still have to work things out with Liz. And even if you end things with her for good--”

“Which is what I intend to do, I told you that.”

“--you’ll still have to sort out all of the issues with the baby. And over the coming months, she’ll need you to be there for her, to help her with things. Then once the baby’s born, you’ll probably want to spend a lot of time--”

“Woah, woah.” Armie laughed and turned to face Tim. He reached out his free hand and cradled the side of Tim’s head. “Slow down. Yes, there are things to figure out. Yes, she’ll be involved in our lives, because of it. Yes, it’s not going to be easy.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” said Tim. “You don’t need to be worrying about trying to work out a relationship with me while you’ve got all that going on. And that should be your focus, so I’m not saying--”

“Tim, I imagine you there with me through all of that,” he said.

Tim watched him carefully in the dim light. “You do?”

“I do. You remember last weekend, when we were walking in to the pub and I was telling you about Liz, you said that maybe you could be Uncle Tim, if I still wanted you around?”

“Yeah.”

Armie smiled. “All I could see, in that moment, were visions of _us_ raising a child. It was so clear to me, what it would be like. So...tomorrow, and going forward, I want you there. It’s that simple.”

“Oh,” Tim managed.

Armie leaned down and took Tim’s mouth in a deep kiss. When he was done, he pulled back, and Tim looked at him with dazed eyes.

“Okay?” asked Armie.

“Okay,” Tim said. “We should probably get back inside.”

They put out their cigarettes and returned to the party. After putting away their coats, Tim rubbed his hands together to warm them. “Now or never, I guess,” he said. “Why is this so much scarier than playing at the pub?”

Armie grinned. “You’ll be great. Where do you want me?”

“Close,” said Tim. He stood on tiptoes and looked across at the piano. “That blue chair. Kick that old lady out of it.”

“I’ll wrestle her for it if I have to,” said Armie. “Go. Shine.”

When Tim turned away, he tapped him lightly on the ass. Tim whirled back with a surprised grin, and then disappeared down the hall.

A few minutes later, Armie was settled in the blue chair -- the very kind lady had moved to a different spot when he explained -- and Tim took his seat at the piano. Luca had turned off the music, and clapped his hands three times.

“Everyone,” he said, “we have a special guest here, and he has graciously agreed to play for us. Just a few songs, but if we applaud loudly enough maybe we get him longer. Timothée Chalamet.”

The guests applauded politely, and Armie grinned. If Tim on the piano was anything like Tim on the guitar, their polite patience would give way to earnest enjoyment as soon as he began to sing.

Tim started with _Lost Direction_ , giving Armie a wink. Armie smiled back and sat back in the chair to enjoy this new element of Tim. His fingers danced across the keys nimbly, with more expertise than he had admitted. Luca was right. He played like a dream.

Armie was also surprised at how well Tim translated his songs to the piano. So well that Armie was sure he must have already had them written for both. He started to think about where they could fit a piano in his condo. In the upstairs den, maybe, or the living room, particularly if it was an electric piano. He had seen some of those when he was purchasing the recording equipment. They were smaller, and seemed to have a lot of functionality. He even remembered seeing some that were more portable, in case Tim wanted to bring it to a gig.

After two more songs -- and a lot of enthusiastic applause -- Tim hesitated. Luca leaned down and spoke to him, and Tim said something in return. Luca nodded, and straightened up.

This time, when Tim began, he played something that Armie didn’t recognize. He thought that was odd, since he thought he had become an expert at all of Tim’s material. Maybe this was a cover he didn’t know, or something else.

After three identical chords, Tim paused. “This is a new piece,” he said. “And I just finished it today. So...bear with me.” He started over.

 _A new piece, that he had finished today_. When? Armie wondered. Maybe right before the gifts, when Tim was furiously scribbling in his notebook? He was instantly curious.

The notes were sparse, and slow. Simple chords, repetitive, without anything in between to fill the silence between the fading notes, creating an atmosphere that made you want to lean in to understand the connections a little better.

Tim started singing, clearer and stronger than Armie had ever heard him. The melody was in his voice; the piano was just a quiet contrasting accompaniment.

Then Armie listened to the lyrics.

 

_I should write it all for you_

_In your name_

 

_Since I walked in to your place_

_It’s not the same_

 

_I could play for eternity_

_And not get tired_

 

_Of seeing your eyes on me_

_It’s inspired_

 

The song went on, mentioning a late night subway performance, an audience in party clothes...omelets and cigarettes and...slowly, Armie began to understand. This was...these were lyrics about him. About him and Tim.

Tim’s eyes were closed, as he sang, but then he opened them and looked straight at Armie as he hit the chorus.

 

_You will never know how much you mean to me_

_But maybe I’m just in love when you wake me up_

 

Armie gasped. He remembered what Tim had said that morning. _This is the third time you’ve woken me up_ , he had said, _and I think it’s my favorite_.

Tim was...singing about _being in love with_ Armie. He sat up straight, feeling a haze of...something clouding the edges of his vision. He could no longer distinguish anything around him except for Tim, at the piano, singing.

 

_You will never know...how much_

_Never know how much you mean_

_How much you mean to me_

 

The song was nearly over. Armie leaned forward, not wanting to miss a single note. Tim smiled, and sang the last line.

 

_Maybe I fell in love when you woke me up._

 

When he was done, Tim removed his hands from the keys and sat back. The room erupted in applause. Armie couldn’t make his hands move. He watched as Tim stood from the piano and accepted a hug from Luca, then one from Will, who had shown up from nowhere. He watched Will put his hand on Tim’s shoulder, and Tim nod and then hug him again.

That got Armie moving, finally, and he reached Tim’s side just as Will was saying, “So we’ll see you around, then? No ghosting on us this time?”

“I promise,” said Tim.

Will acknowledged Armie with a nod and then moved away. Tim looked up with a shy smile.

“So,” he said. “What did you think?”

Armie threaded his hand through Tim’s hair, brushing his curls aside. He leaned down and whispered in Tim’s ear.

“Get our coats,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”

“Now?” asked Tim.

“Now, unless you want to find a bedroom here where I can--”

“Yup, getting our coats. Stay here.” Tim darted away, a slightly nervous look in his eyes. Armie watched him go. To hell with the fucking lines. He was about to obliterate all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21SVpwFGeIRnXRRRiGTD9M


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day, Part 3 (or, really, Christmas Night).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem. I changed the rating. There ain't no trees to be seen in this here chapter.
> 
> Now, I don't write this kind of thing too frequently, so...be gentle. Or not. Do your thing.
> 
> Soundtrack: There are roughly three sections to this chapter, and they can be divided into these three songs.
> 
> 1\. Sky Might Fall - Kid Cudi (I had to include Cudi, come on)  
> 2\. Issues - Julia Michaels  
> 3\. Breathe Me (Four Tet Remix) - Sia (it's very important that it's this particular remix...)
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5oByuxwFW0UpwWTChCoBu2
> 
> Shout out to stmonkeys who has created beautiful artwork that will become the cover for Part 2. The fact that they were moved to create this has me literally in tears of gratitude. Stay tuned.

**Chapter 18**

It took longer to extricate themselves from the party than Armie had hoped. He thought he exercised an admirable amount of restraint by not throwing Tim over his shoulder and barreling out the door like the fucking caveman he seemed to be all of a sudden.

Instead, he stood by Tim’s side, one hand on the small of his back, feeling electricity thrumming through his fingers, while Tim said goodbye to what seemed like every soul in the place. People he knew got a last conversation, a hug, and promises to keep in touch and not disappear again. People he didn’t know wanted to compliment him on his music, ask about the songs, find out where they could hear him play. Luca hugged him twelve times and said a bunch of things in French that Armie didn’t understand, but that made Tim blush and glance over at him with a nervous look.

Finally, finally, _finally_ , they were outside in the freezing weather. Armie shoved his hands in his pockets, hunched himself down into the collar of his coat, and started walking, his monster strides eating up the brick sidewalk like it was a last meal. He heard Tim hurrying to catch up and match his pace.

“Armie, what the hell -- didn’t we get a car?” Tim came up beside him, looking confused.

“I thought it would be better to walk,” said Armie. “It’s a nice night.” _I need to cool down a little,_ he thought, _or else this is going to be over before it even starts._

Tim glanced up at the sky. Stars were sparkling, which was an unusual sight to see above a city like Boston. There was too much light pollution. To see stars, conditions needed to be exceptionally clear and the planetary positioning had to be just right.

“Yeah, okay, but it’s fucking _cold_ ,” he said.

“Cold is good for you,” said Armie.

Tim huffed, and the next thing Armie knew, he was winding his left arm through Armie’s right, pressing himself close.

Armie untangled himself and stepped away. Tim made a small sound, and when Armie glanced over, he looked hurt.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Did I...do something?”

Armie laughed. “Oh, Timmy,” he said. “Did you do something? Everything you do is _something_.” He took in a breath of frigid air and blew out a cloud of steam. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But you can’t touch me right now or else...I’m sort of on the edge, here. I figure you want to get home before I start tearing your clothes off.”

When his words were met with silence, he risked a glance to his right. Tim was staring at him, and then he cleared his throat.

“Oh,” he said. “Okay, sure.”

The rest of the walk home was filled with a thick tension. Armie kept his hands fisted in his pockets, head down, walking as quickly as was humanly possible. Tim kept up, always just in the periphery of his vision, feet clomping on the brick as he took a hop-step every so often to even up their pace.

The house came in view, and Armie felt proud of himself that he didn’t break out into a run. He made it all the way to the porch, got the key in the downstairs door, and crossed the threshold into the stairwell before his control broke.

He spun around and grabbed Tim by the lapels of his jacket, then walked him backwards until he thudded against the wall.

“Fucking hell, Tim. You’re making me crazy,” he muttered. Then he crushed his mouth to Tim’s with a low growl.

This was not a gentle kiss. It wasn’t testing, or sweet, or lazy, the way he had been kissing Tim since that morning. No, this was...a claiming. As their teeth clashed together, and their lips stretched to accommodate their tangled tongues, Armie heard moaning and realized he didn’t know if the sounds were coming from him, or from Tim...or both. He no longer had the brainpower left to decode the sensory input anymore than to think: _Need, want, mine._

He pulled back a mere second to draw in a desperate breath, and took advantage of the opportunity to bite down on Tim’s lower lip. This time, he heard a garbled, _oh, fuck_ , and was sure it came from Tim, since his mouth was busy. He licked over the bitten skin, then plunged back into Tim’s mouth.

Armie would have been worried that he was being too forceful, except that Tim was giving as good as he got. The kid’s hands had tangled in his hair and he was tugging painfully -- tugging Armie’s head _towards him_ , as if Armie could get any closer to Tim’s mouth without fucking crawling inside.

He shifted his hips forward, seeking more contact, and Tim answered his thrust with one of his own. The sensation was startling in its sudden intensity, and Armie pulled back, seeing stars at the edge of his vision that had nothing to do with the night sky. Tim whined and yanked his head back down, and this time it was Tim who set his teeth into Armie’s lips.

Armie swiveled to the left and slid his right thigh between Tim’s legs, pushing up slightly. Tim released Armie’s hair and grabbed at his shoulders, and Tim’s left leg came up to hook around Armie’s knee.

_Now_ they were in business.

Armie pulled Tim away from the wall and palmed Tim’s ass in his giant hands. He lifted, and Tim just sprang up and into his arms, wrapping his legs around Armie’s waist and hanging onto his coat for dear life. Armie kneaded the firm globes of Tim’s ass, drawing a low moan from Tim as he dropped his head all the way back.

This presented an even better opportunity, and Armie dove for Tim’s exposed neck, fastening onto the skin over his pulse point and sucking like his life depended on it.

He became dimly aware that someone was calling his name. He ignored it, too intent on his task, until he felt a hand in his hair again, yanking him off of Tim’s neck with a painful sting.

“Armie,” Tim was saying. Or rather, Tim was trying to say, since his voice was hoarse and raw. “Armie, stop. _Stop._ ”

The word registered in Armie’s clouded brain, and he froze. He tried to shake his head to clear it, but Tim still had his fingers twisted in Armie’s hair and so he was unsuccessful.

“Look, the door. We’re not...stop a second. We’re still basically outside.”

A hand grabbed Armie’s chin and twisted it to his right. He blinked. Sure enough, the door to the street was wide open, and a chill breeze was whipping through the entryway. Moreover, the overhead light was on, which meant that they were in full view of anyone walking by or looking out their window.

Armie let out a weak laugh, then dropped his forehead onto Tim’s shoulder. He was still holding the kid by the ass, Tim’s legs wrapped around him, and no matter where they were, he wasn’t keen on letting go anytime soon.

“Sorry,” he managed. “Jesus Christ, Timmy.”

“Let me down?” suggested Tim. “Don’t try to carry me up, I don’t…”

“I could,” said Armie, pulling him closer. “You weigh like twelve pounds.”

“Yeah, but you’re not thinking too clearly, and I don’t want--”

Armie sighed. “Point. Okay.” He reluctantly let Tim slide down to the floor, gritting his teeth at the friction it created. Tim, who seemed to have better wits about him -- but then again, he hadn’t basically been keeping himself reigned in for an hour of _goodbyes_ \-- quickly closed and locked the front door.

“Come on,” said Tim, with a smile. “Shit, you look...take my hand. I’ll help you.”

Armie accepted Tim’s proffered hand, squeezing it slightly, and let Tim lead him up the stairs. Part way up, he realized his legs were shaking, and he gripped the bannister with his other hand to steady himself.

At the top of the stairs, Tim produced a key and slid it into the lock. Armie crowded behind his back and Tim let out a breathless laugh. He paused.

“Armie,” he said. “I’m going to open the door. But before you...pounce again...I think we should talk.”

Armie whined and let his head thud against Tim’s back. “Why?” he mumbled. “All we do is fucking talk.”

“But we haven’t talked about fucking,” said Tim. “Can I open the door and you’ll promise to back off a second?”

Armie smirked at Tim’s turn of phrase. “Fine,” he said.

“Stop pouting,” said Tim. Armie could practically hear the smile on his face.

Somehow, they made it inside and into the living room without further incident. Tim peered at Armie.

“Sit here,” he said, pushing him onto the sofa. “I’ll be right back.”

Armie watched Tim go, feeling the moment slipping away. Tim was going to talk them out of this, he was sure of it. When he came back, he had a glass of water in his hand. He offered it to Armie.

“Take this,” he said. “Drink it.”

Armie obeyed, watching as Tim carefully positioned himself at the other end of the sofa several feet away.

“Why isn’t this harder for you?” asked Armie.

Tim’s brows drew together. “Why isn’t what harder for me?” he asked.

“Staying away from me. I feel like I’m barely hanging onto sanity, and you’re all _the door is open_ and _don’t pounce_ and _let’s talk_.”

“You _are_ pouting,” said Tim, chuckling. “And it is hard for me. But maybe I have….more practice in controlling myself.”

“You’re twenty-one,” Armie pointed out. “I have five years on you.”

“Yes, but...you realized you were interested in me, what? Five days ago?” Tim snorted. “Try living with it for months.”

Armie took another long drink of water and tried to decipher what the hell Tim was talking about. Then it hit him.

“Months? You mean...you...for months?” Armie’s heart picked up a quick rhythm.

Tim nodded. “You really didn’t know?” he said, with a wry smile. “I was so sure you could tell. From, like, that first night.” He gave a helpless laugh. “And about a million times afterwards. I kept thinking you were going to awkwardly tell me you weren’t interested or, worse, just kind of tell me you didn’t want me at the pub anymore to avoid the confrontation.”

“I didn’t know,” said Armie. “If I had...I can tell you that we would have gotten _here_ much faster.” Needing to close the gaping space between them, he set the glass down and moved towards Tim, but Tim held up his hands, and Armie paused.

“Wait, hang on. So, we’ve established we both want this, which...not such a big shocker. But Armie...I keep saying this, and you keep pushing it aside, but nothing has changed for you. Things are still complicated, and I’m...afraid. That…” he trailed off and ducked his head.

“What are you afraid of?” asked Armie, when Tim didn’t continue, and the silence became too heavy.

Tim rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I just don’t want you to have regrets,” he said. “Or for it to be too late for me, if you decide you need to focus on being a father, or that you should have stayed with Liz, or…”

“Too late for you to do what?” Armie frowned. “Tim, I have no doubts, here. I know what I want. I told you what I want. I’m not going to change my mind. And tonight, you...told me what you want. I thought. Or did I misinterpret that song?”

Tim rubbed a hand across his forehead. “You didn’t. I do want this. But you say this all now, and you don’t really know how you’re going to be feeling in two months, or six, or ten.”

“No one does, do they?” Armie blew out a frustrated breath. “I can’t predict the future, Tim, any more than you can. But I can promise you that I’m not going to _regret_ choosing you, right now in this moment.”

“There’s also the fact that, technically, Liz is still in the picture,” Tim said. “I know you said it’s over -- and I believe you -- but I don’t know that she knows that, not for sure.”

Armie reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I’ll call her right now, if you want,” he said. He unlocked the device and navigated to her information. “I’ll call her, tell her never mind, forget New Year’s, this ends now.”

Tim leaped forward and clasped his hands around the phone, and Armie’s hand. The contact restarted the electric hum, and Armie’s gaze snapped up.

“Don’t,” said Tim. “Come on, you know that’s a terrible thing to do.”

“I really don’t. give. a. fuck. If it means I can have you.” Armie’s free hand came up to rest on Tim’s neck. “If that’s the problem, I’ll take care of it. I’ll go over there. I’ll call my lawyer and have him draw up custody and support papers and get this shit moving. He’ll leave his Christmas dinner to do it. I pay him enough.”

“Armie.” Tim released the phone and placed his hands on Armie’s chest, and they were like two defibrillator paddles, sending current to shock his heart. “I believe that you are going to sort all that out. My point is that...I feel like we should wait until you do to move forward. Today has been amazing, and I’m so grateful we had it. It showed me what it could be like. But I...need to take it slower.”

Armie leaned forward and rested his forehead against Tim’s. “So what...we go back to yesterday? I don’t know if I can do that.”

“We don’t have to go back,” said Tim. “I’m hearing you. I heard you earlier, too. You’re saying you’re in this, and it’s not something you need to think about further. That’s...enough for me. But can we just live in this space for a bit, before jumping off the cliff?”

Armie heaved a sigh. “I want to jump,” he said. “But I want you to jump with me.”

Tim closed his eyes. “I’m trying, okay?” he said. “I’ve...there are some things I’m trying to work through. Can I just ask you to be...patient? I know it’s asking a lot.”

Suddenly, all the urgency Armie had been feeling bled away, and he felt his control snap back into place. Hadn’t he just been thinking that morning that he didn’t want to come on too strong and scare Tim away before he was ready? Now, he was saying he needed time, and Armie would give it to him — even if it killed him in the process.

He lifted his head and pulled Tim into an embrace. Tim resisted at first, but then melted into Armie, his forehead tucked into Armie’s shoulder.

“It’s not asking a lot,” said Armie. “You want to slow it down, we slow it down. I can wait.”

“You sure? A few minutes ago--”

“A few minutes ago, I had momentarily forgotten about the most important thing, which is that you’re still here.” He stroked his hand down Tim’s hair. “You just...tell me. Set the pace.”

Tim nodded against him. “Thank you,” he said. “I just don’t want to rush, you know? Now that you’re _finally_ on board, here, I feel like I need time to adjust. Make sure this isn’t some delusion that I created in my head.”

“I promise, it’s no delusion,” said Armie. “Or if it is, we both took the same hallucinogen. So...what now?”

“Now...it’s still Christmas. Let’s finish our day.”

Armie pulled back and examined Tim’s features, the slight smile on his face, the mischief in his eyes. “Finish it how?”

“Well, it began pretty well...let’s finish the same way.”

“Okay, to make sure I’m absolutely not misunderstanding you: we started in bed. Kissing.”

Tim nodded.

Armie sent up a prayer of thanks that his caveman lack of control hadn’t pushed Tim too far away. “Then...what are we waiting for?” he asked.

“I’ll change and meet you upstairs?” asked Tim.

“Sounds perfect.” Armie released Tim and stood. Tim looked up at him, worry around his eyes.

“You sure you’re not mad?” he asked.

Armie took Tim’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “I promise,” he said. “Can I kiss you once? For good luck?”

Tim nodded happily, and this time, the kiss was gentle. And sweet. Armie felt the bonds of his restraint settling back over him, and he welcomed them. It may kill him, but he was willing to deal with that. Until Tim was ready, he didn’t want to push anything. If he did, he was risking everything.

They parted, and Armie headed up to his room. He brushed his teeth and then stripped down to his boxer briefs and t-shirt. After a moment’s hesitation, pulled the t-shirt over his head. He held it in his hands and frowned.

Should he put it back on? Was it too forward to take it off, after what they had discussed? He wanted to feel Tim cuddled against his skin, but he wasn’t sure that was...wise. The way he was feeling about the kid, even having found his control again, it was going to be hard enough to hold back without having a mostly naked Tim squirming against him.

With a sigh, he began to pull it back on. He had it over his head and one arm through a sleeve when Tim appeared in the doorway. They both froze.

Tim’s lips parted with a tiny sound, he green eyes going instantly dark. His gaze dropped to Armie’s stomach, and he licked his lips.

“What are you doing?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper.

Armie swallowed. Should he say he was taking off the t-shirt, or putting it on?

“I was...putting my shirt back on?” It came out as a question.

“ _Why_? I mean...don’t.” Tim walked forward and reached out, grabbing the hem of the shirt. “Leave it off. Please?”

Armie pulled the shirt back off and tossed it to the side, trying to control the way his stomach muscles began to clench with Tim’s hands in such close proximity. “Better?”

“Yeah.” Tim flicked his eyes up to Armie, peering up at him through his lashes and smiling shyly. “You’re beautiful.”

_“I’m_ —“ Armie rolled his eyes. “Now yours,” he said.

Tim stepped back and gripped the hem of his shirt. He toyed with it a moment and then yanked it up and off. He balled it between his fists and held it in front of his chest.

Armie took his time looking. Tim’s skin was pale all over, looking just as paper-thin and delicate as the skin on his neck, his face. Armie’s fingers itched to touch.

He cleared his throat. “I wanted to...feel you tonight,” he said. “Or is that against the rules? Too fast?”

Tim ran the back of his hand against his mouth and then down his chin and neck, where he rested his hand loosely against the base of his throat. “I think it’s okay if we’re just...holding. No exploring.”

“You’re going to kill me, Tim.” Armie was being completely honest. He once again had the thought that if he didn’t get to put his hands all over that available skin _yesterday_ he was going to have a coronary.

“Let’s just go to bed,” Tim said. He skirted around to the other side of the bed, outside of Armie’s grasp, and slipped under the covers.

That wouldn’t do. Now Tim was hidden from sight.

Armie approached the bed and threw the covers back, exposing all those miles of skin once more. Tim’s eyes widened.

“Armie…” he said. There was a note of anxiety and caution in his voice. Armie was betting he looked slightly out of control again, because that’s how he felt.

Armie climbed onto the bed, settling on his side with inches separating them. Tim continued to lie on his back, his hands resting on his abdomen. Armie carefully picked up one hand and then the other, laying them to Tim’s sides.

“I just want to look,” he explained. “You’re...a masterpiece.

Tim laughed. It was clear he didn’t agree. “I’m skinny and pale.”

“Shut the fuck up if you’re going to put yourself down,” grumbled Armie. “Don’t criticize what I love.”

Tim’s breathing stuttered. Armie knew what he had said. He knew Tim heard it. But just like earlier, with Tim’s song, he wasn’t quite ready to say the words out loud, and he knew Tim wasn't ready to really hear them. That needed to wait.

“Armie, you—“ Tim swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing seductively. “You have to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” Armie rolled forward and placed a kiss on Tim’s shoulder. Kissing was allowed and a shoulder was close to a mouth.

“Looking at me like that. I’m trying to be good here, and—“

“Fuck being good,” said Armie. “It’s only what you want. The rest doesn’t matter.”

“But it does. To me.”

Armie sighed. “Okay,” he said. Then he had a thought. “What if...what if I told you what I wanted to do, but didn’t actually do it?”

“Like, just talking?” Tim’s brows drew together.

“Yeah. With occasional kissing.” To demonstrate, Armie leaned up and pressed his lips against Tim’s gently. “Like that.”

Tim smiled. “I guess that’s allowed. But no touching.”

“No touching.” Armie held up his hands, palms wide. “I promise.”

“So...what is it that you want to do, when we...when I can...?” Tim’s voice dipped an octave, and if that didn’t further challenge Armie’s resolve, he’d be a monkey's uncle.

“Well…” Armie kissed Tim again, harder this time. “First of all, we’ll make out for a while. Then, I’ll trail my lips down your throat and suck just...here.” He hovered his fingers over the hollow at the base of Tim’s neck. Tim swallowed, and Armie grinned.

“Then what?”

“Then... I’ll lick my way down, to here.” Armie moved his hand along the length of Tim’s sternum, careful not to actually touch, his fingers just barely hovering. He was guessing Tim was feeling the prickle of proximity, the slight heat and the sense that someone was _this close_ to your skin, because he licked his lips. “I’ll suck -- hard -- and then move over to your left nipple.”

“Mmm,” murmured Tim. “Why?”

“Because I want to see it stand up for me. I’ll lick in a circle around, and around, and around, and then when it looks like...that…” Armie noticed that, even though he wasn’t touching Tim, the nipple in question was hardening into a stiff point. “...I’ll bite down, pulling it between my teeth and flicking in with my tongue.”

“Oh.” Tim shifted his hips. Armie could see his erection tenting his boxers and nearly decided to say _fuck it_ despite what Tim had said. But he simply took a long, steadying breath and continued.

“But, of course, the other one is all neglected. So in order to get it with the program and make up for lost time, when I get over there I’ll just suck until it’s bright and red.”

“Yeah, okay,” breathed Tim.

“Then I’ll grab it between my fingers and tug.”

Tim let out a long moan.

“You like that? A little bit of bite?”

“Yes,” Tim grunted. “Keep going.” His eyes had fluttered closed somewhere around the talk about his left nipple, and now he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip.

Armie stared down at him in wonder. He was holding himself as rigid as possible, hands clenched into fists by his sides, and his pale skin was flushed and covered in gooseflesh. Armie placed a flat palm in the air just above Tim’s abdomen and watched as his muscles tensed and released. Experimentally, he moved his hand up towards his chest, and then back down to the waistband of his boxers. Even though he never touched, it was clear Tim could feel him.

Tim whined. “Please,” he said. “Keep talking.”

“After that, I’ll spend some time down here, at your stomach. Jesus, Tim…” he swallowed, watching Tim’s stomach twitch violently. “I can see you responding, Christ...I’ll kiss your navel, and then, barely touching you, move down to the soft skin at your groin--”

“Take them off,” Tim gasped.

“What?”

“My--” he shifted his hips up, and Armie moved his hand out of the way. “Take them off. Please.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll pull the waistband to the side first, and then to the other, until--”

“ _No,_ ” said Tim. “Please, just take them off _now._ ”

Armie’s breath caught. Tim wanted him to…

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

“Yes. _Off_.”

Without overthinking it, Armie sat up, and before Tim could change his mind, he gripped the band of Tim’s boxers at either hip and gently tugged. Tim lifted his hips, and Armie dragged the material down, his knuckles grazing the skin on Tim’s hips and outer thighs.

He tugged harder, and Tim’s erection sprang free, bouncing towards his stomach.

Tim groaned.

Quickly, Armie pulled the boxers the rest of the way down and tossed them over the side of the bed. Then he stared. His mouth watered at the sight of Tim, his cock long and thin, just like the rest of him. It was all Armie could do not to forget everything and take Tim in his mouth.

“Don’t stop,” said Tim. He opened his eyes and looked up at Armie. “Please. Keep talking.”

“Just talking?” asked Armie, his voice raw.

Tim nodded. “Just talking. Please.”

To remove himself from the worst temptation, Armie laid back down beside Tim, and rested his chin on Tim’s shoulder, his lips almost touching Tim’s ear.

“Now that you’re available and open to me, I won’t be able to wait any longer,” he murmured. “I’ll close my lips around the head of your cock and suck. Lightly at first, and then harder, until you’re coming apart.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” said Tim. “Fuck, fuck fuck…”

“Yes, just like that. And when you can’t take it any longer, I’ll take you in all the way, until you hit the back of my throat. And then I’ll swallow--”

“Shit,” Tim turned his head, and found Armie’s mouth, delivering a punishing kiss before breaking away and tossing his head to the other side. “Don’t stop.”

Armie tried to catch his own breath. This was hotter than anything he’d ever done with _anyone_ , and he wasn’t even really touching the kid. Fuck, he was in trouble.

“When you think you can’t take it any longer,” Armie’s voice dropped to a whisper, his lips flush against Tim’s ear, “I’ll slide my thumb to your asshole and tap it once, twice, three times, to wake it up.”

Tim mumbled incoherently and his legs fell apart. His right thigh hit Armie’s legs, heated skin to heated skin, and Armie moaned at the sudden contact.

“When you’re begging for it, I’ll slick up and press my thumb inside. Slowly -- I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh _god,_ ” muttered Tim. He bit down on his lip again, and his hips seemed to be jerking outside of his control.

“It’s going to take a while,” Armie breathed. “To get you ready for me. I’m not small. I’ll need to use four fingers, and take my time.”

Tim’s moans increased.

“I’ll make it good for you, and all the while, I’ll keep sucking you down. You’ll try to hold back, to wait for me to be inside you, biting the inside of your cheek and trying to distract yourself from the way your stomach is tightening, the way your balls are drawing up, the way it’s rushing toward you. You’ll really try. But I won’t let up. I’ll twist my fingers just as I swallow you so deep, until you can’t take it anymore, and you _come for me_ —”

With a strangled cry, Tim came, spurting all over his stomach and chest.

“Shit,” muttered Armie. “Holy _fuck_ , Timmy.” Unable to keep himself steady any longer, he shoved a hand into his own boxers and stroked himself. It only took three quick motions before he was coming too, with a long groan.

The room was suddenly silent, but for two sets of ragged breathing. Before he was thinking straight, Armie reached out the hand covered in his own spunk and dragged his fingers through the mess on Tim’s chest, bringing them to his mouth for an urgent taste. Tim whimpered and then rolled onto his side, desperately seeking Armie’s lips. Armie opened his mouth and welcomed Tim, reveling in the taste of him in two senses.

When they broke apart, Armie let out a long, contented sigh. “That was...Jesus. I think it’s safe to say we’ve erased all the damn lines.”

Tim rolled his head to the side and gave Armie a weak grin. “I don’t know,” he said. “ _Technically_ , we didn’t touch. Not really.”

“Yeah, that’s sort of splitting hairs, don’t you think? I thought you wanted to wait.”

“I do. But, well...I’m not a robot. There’s only so much Greek God hotness a man can take before it breaks his resolve.”

“Greek God hotness?” Armie grinned helplessly.

“I call it like I see it.” Tim leaned in for another quick kiss and then rolled away and off the bed.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” asked Armie, sitting up.

Tim smiled over his shoulder. He looked, for a second, like the siren Armie was starting to think he was, tempting him with his lean body. “To clean up.” He went to Armie’s dresser and rooted around, pulling out a new pair of boxers. He tossed them to Armie. “Think you might need these,” he said, with a smirk.

Armie shook his head as Tim disappeared into the bathroom and he heard the water running. Tim was going to destroy him. Every turn was a surprise, better than he could have hoped. He had made Tim come, for the first time, by just _talking_. Fuck, he had made himself come with barely more than that. He was so screwed.

He got up and went to the bathroom, where Tim was just pulling his boxers back on. Tim looked up and grinned, then threw him a washcloth. “Need my help, or can you manage?” he asked.

Armie considered. Did he want Tim’s hands on him? _Yes._ But if he did…

“Are we getting rid of these lines?” he asked.

Tim licked his lips. “I don’t...think so,” he said. “I still want to go slow, and I still want to wait for you to be totally clear.”

Armie ran the non-sticky hand through his hair. “This is fucking stupid. You _know_ what we did wasn’t going slow, wasn’t sticking to just kissing. We just--”

“We just did something that I have _never_ done before, and it was fucking amazing. Wasn’t it?”

“You know it was. And it’s never been like that for me, either.”

Tim’s face lit up in a brilliant smile, and Armie was helpless under the assault. He grinned back.

“So...why rush? If we hadn’t drawn the line, that wouldn’t have happened, and... Jesus Christ, Armie, I’m…” he shivered. “Let’s see what else we can do without technically crossing the line.”

Armie’s brain short-circuited at that as he thought of about twenty-seven possibilities. Okay, so maybe Tim had a point. Why rush? They had the rest of their lives.

"And," Tim continued, "if  _that_ was incredible, just imagine what it will be like when we--"

“Fine,” Armie said. “Now...get out of here because I’m at the edge of my control and I might not make it.”

Tim’s eyes widened. He quickly edged around Armie toward the door. “Do you want me to sleep downstairs?” he asked.

“No fucking way,” said Armie. “I just need a minute. And then I’m going to wrap myself around you and not let go until we have to get up to go to work.”

Tim jumped forward and suddenly Armie had his arms full of lanky, vibrating perfection. Tim kissed him soundly, and then let go.

“Thanks for today,” he said, softly. “Truly the best Christmas ever.”

When Tim had left the room, Armie braced himself against the counter, grinning like a fool. The twists and turns Tim was steering them through were enough to make him question his sanity, but he hung onto one thing, the thing he was most sure about.

Tim was meant for him. He just needed to be patient, and let the kid come to him on his own. After all, Armie wasn’t really a caveman. He was a _Greek God._ Tim had said so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so...there's still a ways to go, but at least they're making progress ;)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after Christmas and Tim's birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back!
> 
> Sorry for the brief delay. Life this week got rather...difficult in several ways, and it was unavoidable. I had hoped that I could keep up a rapid posting schedule for the remainder of this story and the beginning of Part 2 this week before easing into a slightly more sane schedule, but events (a sudden need to buy a new car, for example, which was unanticipated, is sort of urgent, and is blowing up my budget in a frightening way) have made me think I have to ease into the sane schedule now.
> 
> I'm going to try for twice a week for a while, with a possible bonus update on non-crazy weekends.
> 
> Thank you for still being here, and I truly hope you will think the wait was worth it.
> 
> Now, on to the notes for this chapter: Fluff, fluffy smut, fluff, smut, fluff, fluff, and angst, in that order. The boys are in a sort-of honeymoon period, but that can't, unfortunately, last forever.
> 
> I've added a chapter to the length again, but this time it's for reals the really real number. I've blocked out the last two chapters in what I truly believe is a realistic pacing. Buckle your seatbelts.

**Chapter 19**

When Armie ascended into consciousness on Thursday morning, the first thing he registered was that Tim was nibbling and kissing parts of his jaw, neck, and ear. And humming.

It wasn’t a melody, exactly. Instead, Tim would lick or bite a patch of skin and then hum a single note, which may or may not be connected to the note just before or just after it. It almost sounded like he was tuning an instrument.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep, after Tim hummed a particularly high note right in his ear.

Tim hummed again, something lower this time. “Writing a song,” he murmured.

Armie smiled and tightened his arms around the kid as Tim kissed his chin. “What’s it about?” he asked.

Tim pulled back and smiled down at Armie. “Soft, sleepy skin.”

The shiver that ran through Armie at that moment was sudden and complete. “Are you getting inspiration from somewhere?”

Tim settled his mouth at the base of Armie’s throat and sucked. “Looking for it,” he mumbled. “You can go back to sleep, I’ll probably be a while. Working, you know.”

Armie chuckled and put his hands on either side of Tim’s face, pulling him up for a proper kiss. “Good morning.”

“Yes, definitely,” said Tim.

“What time is it?” asked Armie.

Tim smiled. “Early enough. We have a little while.”

He reached behind him and took Armie’s hands in his own. The next thing he knew, Tim had dragged his hands up to the pillow on either side of his head.

“Now what are you doing?”

“Armie, do me a favor.” said Tim. “Don’t move.”

Armie stilled immediately. He was going to have no problem following these directions: as far as he was concerned, Tim could tell him to do anything and he’d comply. If Tim told him to, he’d shave all his hair off, pierce his tongue, and join a punk band.

“Morning,” said Tim. He dipped his head down and kissed Armie. When he pulled back, Armie instinctively went to reach for him, and found his hands still pinned. “Hey,” said Tim. “What did I say?”

“You said don’t move,” said Armie, feeling a little breathless. “Why can’t I move?”

“Because I want to do a little...exploration. And if you move, I won’t get very far.”

Armie swallowed. _Exploration_? “What kind of exploration?” he asked.

“This kind,” said Tim, with a small smirk. He leaned back down and began to run his nose along the planes of Armie’s face. It was almost cat-like, the way he nuzzled into the hollows of Armie’s cheeks, the arc of his brow.

And he continued to hum, which sent little warm gusts of breath and vibrations onto Armie’s skin. It was going to drive him crazy if this kept up.

It did. Tim hummed and fluttered his way under Armie’s chin and down his neck, along his collarbone, where he paused.

He spoke without looking up. “I’m going to let go of your hands,” he said. “What are you going to do?”

Armie blinked at him, feeling dazed. “Not move.”

Tim gave a satisfied smile against Armie’s skin. “That’s right,” he said. Then he lifted his hands from Armie’s. Armie flexed his fingers but kept his wrists pressed into the pillow beside his head.

“Where are you going?” asked Armie. “You’re headed below the neck.”

“I won’t touch,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

_I’m not worried,_ Armie thought.

He lifted his head then, hovering just over Armie’s chest. Then he tilted his head to the side and let his soft hair fall to brush along Armie’s collarbone.

Armie sighed at the light caress, and closed his eyes. He could feel Tim’s hair pooling under his chin then skimming down the center of his chest. When the curls skittered over his left nipple, he tensed and drew in a ragged breath.

“Talk to me,” said Tim. “What are you thinking?”

Armie swallowed. “I’m...that feels…” he broke off and moaned low in his chest as Tim’s hair swung back and forth over what was now a sharply erect nipple. “God, that’s…”

“You smell good,” said Tim. “Like...honey. And mint. Do you use a scented shower gel?”

“I…” Armie lost track of what Tim had asked him, as the soft curls left his nipple behind and skimmed across his stomach and then began a rhythmic, back and forth motion across his abdomen. It tickled at the same time it sent deep, long fissures of need from his stomach down to his rapidly hardening cock. “Shit, Tim.”

His hands came up off the pillow and were halfway to grabbing at Tim when he remembered. He quickly returned them to where they were.

“Doing okay?” asked Tim softly.

“Mmm,” Armie hummed. He twisted his head to the side and buried his face in his shoulder.

“I’d like to take your boxers off,” Tim murmured, still swinging his hair across Armie’s fluttering stomach muscles. “Is that alright with you?”

Armie grunted and lifted his hips slightly in answer. The soft tickle of Tim’s hair disappeared, and was replaced by the firmer glide of Tim’s fingers against his hips, tugging the material down and off.

Armie opened his eyes and peered down the length of his body. Tim was kneeling beside his thigh, sitting on his heels, and _looking._

The look in Tim’s eyes made Armie’s now visible cock twitch. Tim’s gaze darted up to Armie’s face, and he smiled.

“What?” Armie managed.

“You look...like…” He shook his head. “Still okay?”

Armie nodded.

Tim grinned and leaned down, right towards Armie’s erect cock. Armie watched, breathless. Was Tim actually going to—

At the last second, Tim swung his head to the side and let his hair fall right on top of Armie’s dick. Armie let out a loud whimper as the curls ran silkily over his most sensitive skin.

Tim didn’t let up the gentle assault, and Armie felt his heart beating erratically. He squeezed his eyes shut. Jesus, how was it possible that this was so _fucking_ erotic?

It was Tim, he decided. Tim was the factor that made the difference. He realized he was making continuous desperate noises, and had slid his hands beneath his head, gripping his own hair as if trying to ground himself.

He lost track of how much time passed, but eventually Tim pulled away. As soon as he did, Armie opened his eyes.

“We should get up,” said Tim, his green eyes twinkling. “It’s getting late.”

Armie took that as his signal to move, and he reached for Tim, but the kid bounced off of the bed.

“Tim,” warned Armie. He was about ready to roll off the bed himself and land a flying tackle.

“I’m going to shower,” said Tim. “You should, too.”

“ _Tim._ ”

Tim slid towards the door, smirking. “I’ll be thinking about you,” he said, and then left.

Armie heard him clattering down the staircase, laughing, and smacked a hand to his forehead. Tim was going to kill him before this was over, that was for sure.

Better still, _he_ was going to kill _Tim_.

After his shower -- during which he did think, very fondly, of Tim -- he dressed and then picked up his phone. He dreaded making this call, but definitely wasn’t going to put it off any longer.

He got her voicemail.

“Liz,” he said, “I hope you were able to enjoy yesterday.” He sighed, knowing that she probably hadn’t. “Nick told me you talked to him, and...I’m sorry that things didn’t turn out like you wanted. We need to sit down and talk this through. I can meet you almost anytime, so just let me know.” He hesitated, and then added, “I’m sorry.”

For good measure, he also sent a text.

_Armie: Hey, call me. Let’s meet up._

They rolled in to the pub around eight and Armie was looking forward to falling back into a familiar routine. Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

When they walked through the kitchen towards the office to stow their coats, Tim slipped, grabbing at Armie’s sleeve. Armie caught him before he went down, reveling in the contact -- until they realized why he had slipped. The floor was covered in water.

It turned out to be coming from the walk-in, which had broken at some point over the past couple of days. Early on in the past couple of days, considering how things looked and smelled.

The rest of the day involved Tim working with the kitchen staff to clean out the walk-in and inventory the lost product and Armie on the phone with his insurance company and arguing with the repair company and placing emergency orders with his suppliers. He rescheduled the meeting with the realtor for Saturday afternoon.

They put up a sign indicating that the kitchen was closed. Armie sighed at the probable loss of profits, but people seemed to understand. He looked the other way when customers went down the street to grab pizzas from Mike’s, who capitalized on the situation by running over a stack of coupons for Armie to pass around to his patrons.

By the late evening, thanks to some extra-generous tipping, the repair company had the walk-in working again — though it wouldn’t be cold enough to fill until the next morning — and Armie was feeling better about everything. Deliveries of essentials would be arriving in the morning and they should be back in business.

Tim, who had handled the brunt of the physical labor involved, looked dead on his feet by the time they were locking the doors and heading home. He was quiet on the walk, but Armie was okay with it, since he glued himself to Armie’s side.

Once home, Tim stumbled towards his room and came out a minute later carrying his toothbrush.

“What are you doing with that?” asked Armie.

“I’m afraid to stop moving,” Tim said, yawning. “Better to brush my teeth closer to the bed I’m aiming for.”

Armie grinned, and let Tim lead the way up to the top floor. He decided that once Tim’s toothbrush was in his bathroom, it wasn’t leaving...and that was a good step towards what he really wanted.

Ten minutes later, Tim crawled into bed beside Armie and, without hesitation, draped himself over Armie’s left side, tangling their legs together and nuzzling into Armie’s shoulder.

Armie smiled down at him. “Ready to sleep?” he asked.

“Sorry,” mumbled Tim. “I don’t think I can keep my eyes open for...any...things.”

“Things?”

“Things on this side of...lines.” Tim was practically whispering.

Armie kissed Tim’s forehead. “It’s okay, baby. You worked so hard today. Thank you for helping. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Mmm,” murmured Tim. “I like that.”

“Helping?” asked Armie.

“Baby.” Tim let out a long sigh.

Armie’s heart leapt. Tim may have said he wanted to take things slow, but he wasn’t — not with the things that mattered.

He reached over and turned out the light.

“‘Night, baby,” Armie whispered.

Tim was already asleep.

Just before he drifted off himself, Armie remembered Liz. She hadn’t called him back.

* * *

It was only a few hours later that Armie came awake again, staring up at the ceiling in groggy bewilderment. What had woken him up?

Tim was plastered to his side, one arm wrapped around his waist, his breath huffing against Armie’s neck. It hadn’t been Tim — the kid was dead asleep and not moving.

He reached out an arm and grabbed his phone, peering at the screen. Barely five a.m. Armie had set the alarm for six-thirty, intending to wake up early and surprise Tim with a birthday breakfast in bed before they had to get to the pub to take the emergency delivery at quarter-to-nine.

But there was a notification on his screen, that he had a new voicemail from an unknown number. Maybe it had woken him when the screen lit with the incoming call, even though the phone was on silent.

Armie unlocked the phone and queued up the voicemail, lowering the volume and pressing the phone tightly to his ear so he didn’t accidentally wake Tim.

“Hey, Armie, it’s Henry with Jones and Wallace.”

The supplier. Armie frowned.

“We’re going to have trouble getting that delivery to you as scheduled this morning, what with the conditions. It’ll likely be late morning, closer to noon, I’ll keep you posted based on what my driver tells me. If you’re going to close today, give us a shout and we’ll reschedule for tomorrow, no charge.”

If they were going to close today? Armie returned the phone to the nightstand and puzzled over the message.

It was then that he realized that the room seemed brighter than it should for five a.m. in late December. He looked over at the window, at the silvery glow streaming in and illuminating the room, and thought, _no way._

Carefully, he untangled Tim’s warm limbs from around his body and extricated himself from the covers. He crept over to the window and looked outside.

He was greeted with visions of swirling whiteness. The first real snow of the season. He stared out at it for a while. Had this been predicted? He hadn’t paid any attention to the weather forecasts all week, with everything that was going on.

There was a rustling behind him, and then a soft, “Armie? What’s wrong?”

Long arms wrapped around him from behind as Tim pressed his chest against Armie’s back. He could feel Tim’s nose trailing up and down his spine, Tim’s eyelashes fluttering on his shoulder blade. Armie smiled.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Armie murmured. “Come here, look.”

He tugged at Tim’s left arm and pulled him around until they had reversed positions, with Armie’s body now cocooning Tim’s, front to back.

“Oh,” said Tim, his voice full of sleepy delight. “Snow.”

“Yeah, and a lot of it, from how it looks.” He breathed in deeply, his face in the slope of Tim’s neck, the soft warmth of his skin like a drug he couldn’t walk away from.

He nosed his way back up to Tim’s ear and kissed his earlobe.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he said, his voice rumbling into Tim’s ear. Tim shivered.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “What time is it?”

“Early. And we don’t have to be in for a while. Until they clear the roads the deliveries won’t show up.” Armie placed his right hand on Tim’s chest, feeling a pert nipple poking at his palm. He flattened his left palm against Tim’s abdomen, and stroked his thumb up and down over Tim’s navel. “I figure we can see how things look in a couple of hours and I can make a call about when to open.”

Tim’s muscles fluttered under his touch.

“We can go back to sleep if you want,” said Armie. “It’s only been a few hours, and I know you were exhausted.”

Tim didn’t answer. Instead, he breathed in and out deeply, his stomach rising and falling under Armie’s palm. Armie licked at Tim’s ear and then caught Tim’s earlobe between his front teeth, working the soft flesh back and forth gently.

He had a stray thought that he could be happy exactly like this, with the taste of Tim on his lips and the scent of him filling Armie’s nose, the feel of his skin under Armie’s fingertips and the sound of his long, measured breaths in the air around him.

Yes, he could do this, and only this, until he died.

“Armie,” murmured Tim, “since it’s my birthday, can I ask you for something?”

“Of course,” said Armie, smiling against Tim’s neck. “You can ask me for anything even if it’s not your birthday.”

“I know we’re taking it slow, but I need…” Tim trailed off. Armie waited, and after a moment, Tim continued. “I have an idea, and I want you to just go with it.”

A thrill snaked its way into Armie’s gut, his muscles coiling with anticipation. If Tim’s idea was anything like yesterday morning, he wasn’t sure he would survive. But more than that...

“I’m yours,” was all he said, simply. “You decide, remember?”

Tim didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his boxers and pulled his cock free, cradling its half-hard length in his right hand. Armie held his breath.

Then, Tim took Armie’s right hand from its spot on Tim’s chest and — Armie nearly whimpered — placed it around Tim’s right hand, so that Armie was now holding Tim, who was holding himself.

“I want you to make me come,” whispered Tim.

Armie squeezed his hand around Tim’s reflexively. “Like this?” he asked. “With you touching yourself?”

Tim nodded. “Lines, remember?”

Armie chuckled. “Yes, those.” He hesitated. “You want me to…”

“Yes. Please.”

With a hard swallow, Armie squeezed his hand again. Keeping his grip firm, he pulled slowly downwards, dragging Tim’s hand in a long, slow stroke that wrung a low moan from the boy in his arms.

That sound was all Armie needed to dive in to the activity. He set a methodical pace, not wanting to move too quickly, needing to bring Tim to the edge as slowly as possible and savor every last gasp and sigh.

“Please,” whispered Tim, after a few minutes. “Please...more.”

“How does it feel?” asked Armie. “Describe to me what you feel under your fingers.”

“I — ah, shit — I feel my skin. It’s warm, and...soft, but... _god_ I’m so hard.”

“Does it hurt?” Armie asked. He quickened his pace for two strokes and then slowed again.

“N-no. I’m...there’s precome. It’s enough.”

Armie practically drooled, wishing he could feel it himself and yet relishing the idea that he was _so close_ and yet denied the pleasure.

His hips were pressed against Tim’s ass, his hard cock slipping into the space between his cheeks without direction or permission. Armie wasn’t sure if it was allowed, but he gave an experimental thrust, both hating and loving the layers of material that prevented him from feeling Tim against his dick.

“Is that okay?” he asked, with another small thrust.

“Oh…” Tim pushed his ass backwards, meeting Armie’s movements. “Yes. Yesyesyes….”

He tightened his grip and sped up his movements, both with his hand and his hips. Tim groaned.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “Fuck, that’s good. Ah — I’m close —“

Armie loosened his grip and slowed, and Tim whined.

“No, _please_ — fuck, Armie — harder, please…”

Armie fastened his lips on the junction between Tim’s neck and shoulder and sucked. He picked up the pace.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck—_ “

Tim was now moaning and grunting continuously amidst the occasional _fuck_ and _Armie_ and _god._ Knowing he might be taking too much, but not being able to stop, Armie shifted his hand slightly, slipping his fingers in between Tim’s. He was now able to feel the warm, slippery skin — just barely — under the pads of his fingers.

He stroked down once, and then up, and then down once more, and with a loud _unh_ Tim was coming, spilling over their joined hands and collapsing back against Armie, his muscles going lax.

Armie held on with his left arm, pressing on Tim’s abdomen and bringing his ass tightly against Armie’s cock, which was twitching beneath his boxers, not quite getting enough friction to find release.

Tim let go of his softening cock and slipped his hand around Armie’s, spreading his release in a sticky coat all over Armie’s knuckles. Armie bit into Tim’s skin and groaned.

Then Tim was moving, switching their positions before Armie could react. He found himself cradled in Tim’s arms, and the next thing he knew, Tim was guiding their cum-covered hands into Armie’s boxers.

“Your turn,” Tim murmured against the name of Armie’s neck.

It didn’t take long for Armie to get to the edge. Having Tim’s slim fingers bracketing his own, setting the pace and the pressure, while he gripped his own cock, was like nothing Armie had ever felt.

And the very idea that it was Tim’s cum easing the way, making his fingers slip over his skin easily...that was the end of it.

Amie came with a loud moan, Tim’s name tumbling from his lips. He loved the desperation in his own tone, the way he couldn’t think beyond _Tim-Tim-Timmy._ It made him feel...owned by Tim, even more than he wanted Tim to be his.

Struggling to keep his feet under him, Armie turned in Tim’s arms and found Tim’s lips, open and waiting for him. He plunged inside, murmuring whatever came to mind any time they broke apart to breath — things like _baby_ and _fuck_ and _amazing._

Somehow, they made it back to the bed and fell onto the mattress without letting any space between their bodies. The kissing went on for another few minutes before Tim smiled and withdrew, smiling softly down at Armie.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Yeah, you too,” said Armie. “I’m started to love your fucking lines.”

Tim laughed and snuggled close. Armie tugged the covers up around them. He felt himself drifting in a drowsy, euphoric haze, one hand slowly stroking up and down Tim’s arm.

“We still have time to go back to sleep?” asked Tim, sounding drowsy himself.

“A couple of hours,” Armie confirmed. “I’ll set the alarm and let you know. Sleep, birthday boy.”

Tim tightened his arms and burrowed closer. Armie sighed, content, and let himself drift off once more.

* * *

The snow let up around 7:30, after dropping six to eight inches on the greater Boston area. The plows came through about a half hour after, and Armie woke to the sound of the scraping running past his window.

He — regretfully — untangled himself from Tim, slipped out of bed, and went down to the kitchen.

As he began to make breakfast, he activated the phone tree to let his staff know they would open on time but that the kitchen would remain closed until dinner. He also called the supplier back and confirmed an eleven a.m. delivery time.

Then he texted Liz. Again.

_Armie_ : _Checking in again. You okay? When can we get together?_

Twenty minutes later, as he was arranging an omelet on a plate, Tim wandered in.

“Go back up,” said Armie, pointing to the stairs.

Tim blinked at him sleepily. “What? I woke up, and you were gone, so I—”

“Up. You weren’t supposed to wake up yet. Go back up, get in bed, close your eyes, and wait.”

Tim took in the breakfast dishes and the tray on the counter and a grin spread over his face.

“Armie, are you making me breakfast in bed?” he asked.

“Would you just—“

“I’m going, I’m going,” laughed Tim, turning and hurrying back the way he had come.

When Armie reentered the bedroom a few minutes later, he chuckled at the sight of Tim, buried under the covers, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

He set the tray on the dresser and sat on the bed. Leaning down, he brushed Tim’s hair back from his forehead, and placed a soft kiss there.

Tim smiled, his eyes still closed.

Armie ran a hand along Tim’s form over the blanket. “You want to sleep more?” he asked.

Tim opened one eye. “Am I allowed to wake up now?”

“Yes,” said Armie. “You’re allowed to wake up.”

With a bounce, Tim was in Armie’s lap, kissing him. “You’re amazing,” he said, nipping at Armie’s mouth. “Making me breakfast. It’s so cute.”

Armie chuckled. If Tim thought _he_ was cute, he had never really looked at himself. He marveled at how open the kid seemed, as if they were officially a couple, and he had no reservations.

Well...Tim _had_ said he was working on his issues, so maybe he was having success. Armie knew he still needed to talk to Liz, but in his mind the matter was fully settled, and he was ready to move forward.

They sat cross-legged on the bed, the covers pooled around them, and ate the breakfast Armie had prepared.

“We’ll leave _Cor Cordium_ around five,” Armie told Tim, “to come back here and get ready. We have reservations at seven.”

Tim sipped his coffee and hummed. “Where are we going?”

“Can’t tell you. That would ruin the surprise.” Armie raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re the kind of person who can’t stand a surprise.”

“Nope,” said Tim. “Are you kidding? I love surprises.”

“Good.” He thought about the surprise he had in store for later and could hardly wait to see Tim’s reaction.

Armie broke off a piece of bacon and held it out. Tim glanced at it and opened his mouth, and Armie slipped the salty morsel inside, letting Tim’s lips close around his fingers and lick them clean.

When he pulled away, Tim swallowed the bacon and cleared his throat. “You keep doing things like that and we won’t make it to the pub, let alone to the restaurant.”

“Works for me,” said Armie. “Maybe I feel a cold coming on, better not risk exposing anyone else.”

The look Tim gave him then was too filled with wonder, as though he didn’t really believe Armie was quite as far gone as he seemed to be. He made it his mission to make sure that Tim understood — and believed — that this was just the beginning.

As fun as it would have been to play hookey all day, they managed to get up, get ready, and get out the door in a reasonable amount of time. It was probably smart, as Tim pointed out, to continue to shower separately...but Armie was starting to fantasize about having his hands full of soap-slippery Tim, and he wasn’t going to wait forever to make that a reality.

The fresh snow made everything crisper and brighter. No one had shoveled their walks yet, so they crunched through the flattened snow in the streets on their way to _Cor Cordium._

Tim was in a mood that was as bright as the landscape, chattering about his last few birthdays, about making sure to call his sister, about some ideas he had about what he should record first on his new system. Armie let him talk, more than happy to nod and hum agreement and let Tim carry the bulk of the conversation.

The pub was quiet until late afternoon. The delivery went off without a hitch and the kitchen staff began to prep for dinner. Tim manned the bar while Armie worked with Andrew, who decided to take the opportunity of a complete restock of the kitchen to redesign some of the menu.

Around three, Armie tried calling Liz and left another voicemail. Frustrated, he approached Tim behind the bar.

“Hey,” he said, “can I use your phone for a second?”

Tim frowned but held out the device. “Of course. What do you need it for?”

“It’s a disguise,” said Armie.

He tapped out Liz’s number and held the phone to his ear. Sure enough, she answered right away.

“Elizabeth Chambers.”

”Liz. I finally caught you,” Armie said, trying to keep his tone even. She _had_ been screening his calls, as he suspected.

“Armie? You aren’t — I mean, I didn’t recognize this number.” She sounded flustered, and he smirked a little, taking a bit of pleasure in her discomfort. He felt a little mean about it, but couldn’t help what he said next.

“I’m calling from Tim’s phone,” he said. “I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

She sighed. “Can you blame me, after Christmas Eve?”

“Maybe not. But we need to talk. Don’t we?” Armie moved away from Tim, who was watching him like a hawk. “It’s not like we can just stop communicating.”

“Fine. How about tonight? Meet me for dinner.”

He cursed silently. “I can’t tonight,” he said.

“Can’t you get one of the assistant managers to cover the pub? Just for a short dinner?” The irritation in her voice was palpable.

“I’m not —“ He hesitated, uncertain whether to be honest. Finally, he shrugged and went for it. “I actually have plans. It’s Tim’s birthday.”

The silence stretched out so long he thought maybe she had hung up. Just when he was about to say something, she laughed.

“Of fucking course. Jesus Christ, Armie, you are a piece of work.”

“Yeah. I guess I am. But we still need to meet. Tomorrow?” he offered. “I’ve got Nick’s bachelor party in the evening and a meeting in the afternoon, but I could meet for breakfast.”

“So kind of you to squeeze me in.”

He paused, feeling the anger flare. Sure, maybe he hadn’t handled things perfectly, but she wasn’t innocent either.

“If you had answered my calls yesterday morning, maybe we could have found another time,” he said.

“And if you hadn’t been so anxious to run out on Christmas Eve, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”

“Liz—“

“Okay, okay. Breakfast tomorrow.” Her tone softened. “I promise to play nice if you will.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head, fatigue washing over him at even the thought of having to have this conversation.

“I promise,” he said.

They made plans to meet downtown at eight a.m., and Armie turned back to Tim, who looked away quickly.

Armie crossed the room and held out Tim’s phone. Tim took it with a nod, still avoiding his gaze.

“Thank you,” said Armie. Frowning, he watched as Tim poured out two beers silently. “Gwen,” he called to the waitress who had come to collect the beers, “can you watch the bar for a minute?”

“Sure thing, boss,” she said.

Tim looked at him with a question and he beckoned towards the back with a jerk of his head. He turned and headed through the hall to the kitchen. He snagged his coat and Tim’s off the rack in the office and met Tim, who was striding toward him, hands shoved in his pockets. Tim gave him a tight smile.

“Come on,” he said. “Outside.”

He pushed open the back door and stepped out, realizing too late that it hadn’t been shoveled and that he had trudged straight into six inches of snow. He snorted a laugh.

“What’s the matter?” asked Tim from the doorway.

Armie reached behind him and grabbed Tim’s hand, then stepped further into the alley, pulling Tim with him.

As soon as his feet sunk into the snow — and the cold and wet no doubt slid into his boots — Tim yelped.

“What the fuck?”

Armie spun around and grinned, then kicked up a spray of snow towards Tim.

“Hey,” said Tim, but he was laughing. He bent down and scooped up a handful of snow and flung it at Armie, who tried to duck out of the way. He felt the shower of white powder on his neck, and thought about retaliating.

But then he looked at Tim, his cheeks and eyes bright, and instead he took two giant steps forward, grabbed Tim’s face, and kissed him hard.

After a moment of surprise, Tim responded, and all thoughts of cold, wet feet, or the reason they had come outside in the first place disappeared. All that remained was a sense of deep, soul-encompassing satisfaction.

When Armie broke away, he smiled down at Tim and skimmed a thumb across Tim’s glistening lips.

“So,” said Tim. “When we come out here now it’s not to smoke a cigarette anymore, it’s to make out?”

Armie shrugged. “Don’t knock variety,” he said. He remembered why he had wanted to pull Tim aside in the first place, and slid his arm around Tim’s waist, resting a palm on his back. To comfort or to try to keep him from running, Armie wasn’t entirely sure. “I know you were listening to that conversation.”

Tim looked away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to eavesdrop.”

“I don’t care that you heard,” said Armie. “I care if you’re...troubled by it.”

Tim shook his head. “I’m not troubled. I’m...anxious, I guess?”

Armie nodded. “Okay. What are you anxious about?”

Tim bit his lip. Armie watched him and then leaned in and licked that lip, like he had envisioned doing so many times. Tim smiled.

“Well,” he said, “I didn’t really hear the whole...everything. I just could tell you were arguing.”

Armie rubbed a hand up and down Tim’s back. “Yes. Liz is unhappy with me...and, honestly, I’m unhappy with her. We’re meeting for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Oh,” said Tim. “Do you think you’ll know, after that, if…”

“Tim, I told you already. I know _now_. She does too, otherwise she wouldn’t be acting the way she is. But...yes. Even though nothing will be a hundred percent settled, it’ll be over. And I’ll make sure I have a plan for getting the rest of it settled.”

“You mean, what you’re going to do about the baby.”

“Yes, exactly. We’ll have lawyers work out the technicalities, but tomorrow she’ll know I want to be involved — joint custody or whatever — and that he’ll be provided for.”

Tim looked at Armie searchingly. “You want joint custody?”

Armie nodded. “I do.  I can’t...imagine having a child and not being an equal part of his — or her — life. I know that might make you a little…”

“It doesn’t make me anything.” Tim shook his head, curls flying. “You should do that. Joint custody.”

“And you?” asked Armie. “Are you okay knowing that we’ll have a kid underfoot half the time? If that’s too much...we can figure something out. A second apartment, or I could try to split the condo in two, or something—“

“Armie.” The shine in Tim’s eyes spoke volumes. “It’s not too much. If I’m still around, I’m fine with...I mean, I _want_ to be a part of...that. Uncle Timmy, remember?”

“Good.” Armie leaned in and kissed him, then pulled back with a frown. “What do you mean, ‘if I’m still around’?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Tim.”

Tim leaned in and rested his head against Armie’s neck. “Shhh,” he said. “Pretend I didn’t say it. I didn’t mean anything by it, anyway. It was just...habit.”

Armie wasn’t convinced, but he held onto Tim and hoped that what he said was true.

* * *

The cab pulled up to the restaurant on Newbury Street at ten minutes before seven. Armie slid from the car and held out a hand to Tim.

Tim straightened up and peered at their surroundings. “La Voile,” read Tim. “What is this place? It looks...fancy.”

Armie grinned. “It’s French,” he said. “The best in the city.”

“I see that it’s French,” Tim laughed. “Am I dressed okay?”

Tim had on his green sweater and black pants from Christmas. Armie nodded and took his hand.

“You’re fine. Come on.”

With a tug, Armie led Tim down the stairs from the street and into the cozy vestibule. An attendant took their coats, and Armie exchanged a folded bill for a coat check tag. He told the maitre d’ his name, and, shortly, they were being shown to a table under a window.

Tim looked around. “Wow, this is gorgeous,” he said. Then he smiled. “Look at the bar. It kind of reminds me of _Cor Cordium.”_

“It does,” said Armie. “I think it’s the brass and those mirrors.”

A waiter approached their table then, and poured water from a crystal pitcher into their goblets.

“Good evening,” he said. “Welcome to La Voile. Have either of you been here before?”

“I have,” said Armie, “but Tim hasn’t.”

“You are in for a treat, monsieur,” said the waiter to Tim with a smile. “Would either of you like to hear our specials?”

Armie nodded, and the waiter described three dishes in exquisite detail. Then Armie ordered a bottle of wine, and the waiter moved away to give them time to choose their meals.

Tim pored over the menu, getting more and more excited, trying to decide whether he was hungry enough to order the mussels appetizer and whether he was more in the mood for the duck or the rack of lamb. Then he noticed the prices and grimaced.

“Armie, you shouldn’t have brought me to such a fancy place,” he said. “I would have been fine ordering pizza and watching a movie.”

“I know,” said Armie. “But it’s an important birthday, and I wanted us to do something special.”

“It would have been. No matter what it was. And I don’t want you to think you have to...I don’t know. Spend a lot of money on me,” said Tim. “That isn’t...I’m not here because of that.” He ducked his head and began to play with the edge of his cloth napkin, rolling the corner up tightly and then uncurling it, over and over.

Armie stretched his legs under the table until he found Tim’s. He hooked his feet around Tim’s ankles and tugged until they were nestled together. Tim glanced up at him.

“I love that anything we do together seems special. For me, too.” Armie smiled as Tim blushed, the pink color starting at his neck and traveling up to flush his cheeks. “And I know you aren’t angling for me to spend money on you. That’s been clear from...well. From when you tried to give me back the cash I put in your guitar case that night outside Copley.”

Tim smiled faintly at the memory.

“But can you just...accept that it makes me happy to be able to give you things that make _you_ happy?” He gestured around them. “If you don’t think you’ll like the food, we can go somewhere else. Just don’t...resist because you’re feeling guilty about the cost. I can afford it. I want to give it to you. It’s really that simple.”

Tim hesitated, and then nodded. “I guess I can live with that. Here’s the thing, though...it was Christmas, and you gave me sort of over-the-top gifts, and I love them and I’m accepting them, because I know you put a lot of thought into it and it’s important to you. Now it’s my birthday, and you’re taking me out, and I love this, too. But this can’t be a...regular thing. Okay? I don’t want you to just _buy_ me shit. It makes me feel like I can’t — I don’t even know how to explain — like I don’t measure up.”

“What?” Armie rolled his eyes. “Tim, believe me when I tell you that you ‘measure up.’ Hell, you’re the fucking yardstick. I’m the one scrambling to be worth your time.”

Tim gaped at him. “What the hell are you even talking about? You...you’re so...and _I’m just_ —“

“Don’t fucking finish that sentence. Don’t you dare,” said Armie. “You’re _just_ an amazingly talented musician who takes everyone’s breath away. You’re _just_ a fucking chameleon who can go from rockstar to artist to shrewd businessman to head-down workhorse without shifting gears. You’re _just_ the person who saw two days ago how much people miss you when you drop out of their lives.” Armie took a breath. He reached across the table and took Tim’s hands in his, gripping Tim’s cool fingers in his warm palms. “You’re _just_ the most incredible person I’ve ever met in my life. And I’m _just_ the goddamned bartender who is sending up constant prayers of thanks that you’re even bothering to talk to me...let alone sleep in my fucking bed.”

Tim blinked rapidly, his green eyes going gold as he fought to maintain his composure. After a moment, he squeezed Armies hands back, and said, “You say ‘fucking’ a lot.”

Armie grinned. “So do you, asshole.”

From beside the table, someone cleared their throat. Both men looked up to find the waiter looking at them, eyebrows raised in judgment.

“Are you ready to order?” he asked.

“Yes, we fucking are,” said Armie. “We’ll have the fucking mussels to start, and for dinner, he wants the fucking duck and I’ll have the fucking steak.”

Armie picked up the menus and handed them to the waiter, who accepted them. Then, the waiter looked around and leaned close.

“Good fucking choices,” he said. “I’ll be right back with your fucking wine.”

Tim let out a helpless laugh as he moved away. “Let’s give him a fucking good tip,” he said, giggling.

After that, they settled in to enjoy dinner. The food was — in Tim’s estimation — perfect, and reminded him of his childhood in France, which Armie told him was the whole point of picking the place.

They talked. Tim asked a lot of questions about Armie’s plans for the expansion, and they discussed the meeting with the realtor the next day.

“The important things,” said Armie, “are getting a decent price and the ability to make major renovations.”

“Won’t that be an issue if you aren’t buying?” asked Tim.

“It might. I’d have to at least agree to return things to their original state. Or...I could buy.” He explained that the owner was possibly interested in selling the building. “It’s not on the market yet because I think he’s testing the waters, so I don’t want to seem too eager. But it would solve the problem of renovations.”

“What would you do with the space above?” asked Tim.

“There are two apartments. They’re rented now, so I could keep renting them out. Or I could turn them into office space and lease that, or...there are other possibilities.”

Tim was nodding. “Can you afford to think about buying?” he asked. “I mean, commercial property in Somerville/Cambridge has got to be expensive.”

“I can afford it,” said Armie.

They drank the wine...although Tim was disappointed no one wanted to see his I.D., his actual one.

“Let me see it,” said Armie.

“You want to see my I.D.?” asked Tim.

“I’ve only seen the professional fake,” he said. “Let me see the real one.”

Tim fished it out of his wallet and passed it across the table. Armie examined it, turning over in his hands. It was a New York driver’s license, and in the photo, Tim looked like a kid who was way too young to drive, his curls cropped short and his grin full of childlike delight.

Armie looked up at Tim and handed him back the I.D. “When did you grow your hair out?” he asked, snagging an errant curl and twisting it around his index finger, then letting it slide off. It fell against Tim’s cheekbone, a cheekbone that was more pronounced and defined than it had been when the license photo was taken.

Tim shrugged. “I stopped cutting it during...my sophomore year, maybe? Laziness. Then I guess I kind of...liked it long.” He ran a hand through it self-consciously. “Why?”

“No reason. Your photo is adorable but...I like it long, too.” Armie smirked. “Especially after yesterday.”

“Yester — Oh.” Tim grinned back. “So you liked that, did you?”

“You know I did. Only next time I might…” Armie reached across the table and threaded his fingers into Tim’s hair until he had a fistful. He leaned closer, tugged slightly, and when he spoke, he lowered his voice. “...not let you get away so easily.”

Tim’s eyes darkened, and he licked his lips. “Who says I wanted to get away the first time?” he murmured.

Armie closed his eyes, suddenly envisioning himself chasing Tim down the stairs and into his room, tackling him onto the bed. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again.  “In that case, I won’t make the same mistake again.”

They somehow managed to order dessert after that — creme brûlée for Armie and profiteroles for Tim. Armie could feel the tension between them, building in the same way it had built at the end of the Christmas party. He tried to remind himself that there was no guarantee Tim would be ready to take the next step — after all, it had only been two days since he had said he wanted to go slow — but Armie could hope.

When the waiter had cleared their dessert plates and brought their coffee, Tim sighed.

“Thank you,” he said. “This was incredible. The food, the place...it was a really nice thing for you to do.”

“My pleasure,” said Armie. He grinned and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out an envelope. “Which brings us to the gift portion of the evening.”

“Gift?” Tim frowned. “This is my gift...isn’t it?” He eyed the envelope. “Armie, what did you do? You just got me amazing gifts for Christmas.”

“I figured that with your birthday so close to Christmas, you’re probably used to getting screwed out of a perfectly respectable gift opportunity. I didn’t want that to happen this year.”

He placed the envelope on the table and slid it toward Tim. Tim looked at it.

“What’s in there?” he asked warily.

Armie rolled his eyes. “Something you want. Trust me. Just open it.”

Tim picked up the envelope and, watching Armie carefully, tore open the flap. He pulled out the folded letter inside and smoothed it out on the table. As he read, his eyes got wider and wider, until he looked up.

Armie expected to see any number of emotions: joy, excitement, gratitude...maybe even _love._ What he didn’t expect was fear, with a healthy dose of anger as a base.

“What the fuck is this?” Tim’s voice was quiet and deadly serious.

“What does it look like?” asked Armie cautiously.

“It looks like you fucking paid my tuition at Berklee, and registered me to go back in January.” Tim spoke each word carefully, and Armie hesitated before nodding.

Tim closed his eyes and flattened his palm on the letter. Armie waited, but Tim sat still as a statue, the only movement a slight twitching of the muscles in his jaw. After a minute, Armie spoke up, trying to keep his tone gentle.

“It’s what you want,” he said. “You told me that, remember?”

Tim opened his eyes. The green was laced with grey now, as if they were slowly filling with smoke.

“Do you remember,” said Tim, through clenched teeth, “what _else_ I told you?”

“Told me when?”

“At the same time. The same conversation. Practically the same breath.” Tim laughed at Arnie’s confused look. “I told you I wanted to find a way to go back to school. And _then_ I told you not to fucking even think about paying for it. Does that ring any bells?”

Oh. Armie cleared his throat, and then tugged at his collar. He did sort of remember that, but that was just Tim being humble and unassuming. Wasn’t it?

“I...remember that,” he said. “But I wanted to give you this. So…”

“So you ignored me,” said Tim. “Again.”

“No, I evaluated why you said you didn’t want me to help, and figured you just...didn’t want to ask me for something that big. But that doesn’t mean I can’t give it to you. Like the home recording studio. You should have it, I want you to have it, I can make it happen. So why not?”

“Because I fucking told you _not_ to,” said Tim, banging his hand on the table. Not too loudly, but enough to make Armie jump. “It’s not your job to decide why I’m doing something or saying something. All I need you to do is listen and _hear_ _me_. Jesus Christ, we already had this conversation, and I thought you understood.”

Armie racked his brain and remembered the argument they had had about Tim’s phone bill. He leaned forward and placed his hand on top of Tim’s, needing that point of contact. “Okay. I’m listening. I am. But this isn’t like with the phone,” he said. “Or even when you said you didn’t want me to pay the tuition. Things are different now. We’re different now. Aren’t we?”

Instead of placating and diffusing, Armie’s words seemed to light another spark.

“Yes, we’re different now. And that makes it worse.” Tim pulled his hand away and clutched at his throat. “It makes it so much worse.”

“How?” asked Armie. “I don’t get it. I’m sorry. You have to explain it. I keep saying that I want you to be happy. That’s not...it’s not just a wish, it’s a _promise_. I plan to do everything in my power to make you happy. This is in my power.”

“But it’s not going to make me happy.” Tim threw his hands in the air. “Even if I do want to go back to school, and even if finishing school would make me happy, doing it this way won’t. It’s having the opposite effect, or couldn’t you tell?”

“But why?” asked Armie. “We’re...together now, aren’t we? I mean, I know we haven’t actually talked about it, but I think we’re past that. Talking about you being a part of my kid’s life, the pub expansion...all of it. I want you in all of it. This isn’t even me really giving you a gift. It’s just...access to what’s already yours.”

Tim’s eyes were wild at this point, wide and flashing. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “No. It isn’t mine. It’s yours. You need it. For the pub expansion, for Liz, for the baby. You barely _know_ me. Armie, you can’t fucking drop forty thousand dollars just like that and not...not…”

“Tim,” said Armie, worrying that Tim was panicking. He reached for him, but Tim pulled away. “Stop. Okay? I don’t need it. Not the way you think, anyway. And I do fucking know you. I know enough to know I want to know everything, and take the rest of my life to do it.”

Tim stared at him. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he spoke. “Whatever you think you know, it’s not enough for this. You have some idea of me in your head or something, and you’re basing everything on that. And that’s fine for now, but when you realize that I’m not as great as you think I am, or that I annoy the shit out of you just by breathing, or that the only thing you still like is the way I suck your dick — and even _that_ you can get elsewhere — you’re going to regret it all, and I’m the one who’s going to get screwed.”

“ _What?_ No, Tim, that’s —“

“Don’t say it’s not true. It is. Because the fact that you did this shows you don’t know me at all, even though it’s something I straight out told you, talked to you about, how this would make me feel. More than once. _Tonight_ , as a matter of fact.”

He pushed back from the table and stood up. When Armie made to rise with him, he held out a hand.

“Wait. Don’t follow me. I need some time.” He turned away, hesitated a moment, and then turned back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Thank you for dinner. And everything else.”

Armie sat frozen, paralyzed by the look Tim was giving him. The anger was still there, but there was also a trace of...regret.

And that was the scariest fucking thing he had ever seen.

Then Tim walked out of the dining room. Armie watched him go, trying to decide whether to honor his request not to follow or run after him and beg him to stop. Before he could decide, the waiter appeared.

“Should I leave the check?” he asked.

Armie turned and stared at him, not really seeing. Wordlessly, he pulled out his wallet, retrieved a credit card, and held it out. The waiter took it and moved away again.  

Armie felt suddenly cold all over. Had he totally fucked things up?

_No_ , he thought. Tim was mad. He’d been mad before. They always managed to talk things out.

When the waiter returned with the slip for him to sign, he waved it away.

“On second thought,” he said, “I’ll have a scotch. Make it a double.”

He’d take his time, have a last drink. He just needed to be patient, let Tim cool down. When he got home, they’d work it out.

They had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm sorry. Stick around and remember, have faith. I won't pull the rug out from under you. You may think I am, but I'm not. I'm not that kind of writer.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie comes to terms with his mistakes, has an interesting breakfast with Liz, and an even more interesting meeting with the realtor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gave me a lot of trouble. A lot. I'm not really sure if what I've cobbled together here makes all that much sense or is just me rambling to try to start tying up loose ends, but I can't look at it any longer so I am humbly offering it up to you. Followed by a promise that the next one will be better.
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3bQZeF900wzzpr6b1MEYAi
> 
> 1\. Hang You From the Heavens -- The Dead Weather  
> 2\. Heavy Cross -- Gossip  
> 3\. Conductor -- We Were Promised Jetpacks  
> 4\. Interloper -- Earlimart  
> 5\. Fallout -- Sofi Bonde  
> 6\. Wild Place -- Glass Pear  
> 7\. Wait It Out -- Imogen Heap  
> 8\. Down -- Jason Walker  
> 9\. Skinny Love -- Birdy

**Chapter 20**

It’s a strange thing, once you’ve become used to something, to imagine your life without it. Late adopters of technology are always surprised once they think back on what it was like before the tech gave them new ways of operating in the world. Parents struggle to imagine what they did with their free time before they started a family. And lovers can’t believe there was ever a version of their life that didn’t involve each other.

Armie sipped his scotch — and then three more — trying to imagine a world without Tim. It had existed at some point, he was sure...but he honestly couldn’t, or didn’t care to, remember it. That wasn’t the only thing Armie thought about as he got steadily drunk, but he got there eventually (both drunk and thinking about a world without Tim) and it would stick with him for the rest of the night and into the next day (both the drinking and the thinking about a world without Tim).

During his first drink, he started by thinking over the entire stupid conversation — _or fight, it was a fight, might as well call it a fight_ — they had had, again and again. Every word he had said, every syllable Tim had uttered, he remembered them all. He tried desperately to understand what it was that had upset Tim so badly, what part of what he had done or said had been the worst part.

Was it just paying the tuition without asking Tim first? He suspected that was part of it, but not all of it. And — okay fine — he thought he understood _why_ that might make Tim angry: it wasn’t his choice to make whether Tim went back to school, or how he paid for it, just like it hadn’t been his choice to make about how to pay for the phone. By doing something without consulting Tim first, he was making Tim feel like someone else was running his life. Same problem, different scale. He had taken away part of Tim’s freedom.

And, Armie remembered, not only had he tried to take over Tim’s bills without permission...he had also gone and bought back his guitar without asking. He had gone through Tim’s things to do it. He cringed, remembering Tim’s request that he not do that again, both the going through his things and making choices for him. Tim had said it made him feel like an incompetent child, like a victim, and that Armie was doing it so that he could remain...above Tim somehow.

Thinking about it that way made him feel sick to his stomach. He had never wanted to run Tim’s life, or make him feel like he couldn’t make his own decisions, or like he was inferior. He just wanted to make it possible for Tim to have whatever he wanted. _Whatever_ he wanted. But...maybe part of _whatever_ he wanted was not just getting the thing, but deciding how he got it.

Armie finished the first drink and set it aside, then waved a hand for another.

During the second drink, Armie tried to imagine how he would feel if someone did for him what he was trying to do for Tim. He didn’t have to try hard...the comparison was right there for him if only he wanted to see it. When he had decided to leave home, it was precisely because his family had been trying to run his life. Sure, they probably thought they were doing what was best ( _maybe like Armie thought he was doing what was best for Tim...damnit and fuck it all to hell if that realization didn’t absolutely suck_ ) but _Armie_ hadn’t felt that way about it.

Armie could have given his parents lip service, let them send him to college — which was something he had wanted, to go to college — and gone his own way afterwards. But he hadn’t wanted to be under their thumb any longer. He didn’t want to _owe_ them anything else, give them ammunition that they could use against him later...and he had felt that letting them pay for college would give them exactly that. And, most importantly, his father was dictating exactly _how_ he got to do this thing he wanted, and...that would make it somehow less _his._

Okay, so that was what he had done wrong: taking a huge step like that, particularly one involving money, without asking Tim. Taking away his ability to do things for himself.

But there was more to it, he realized, after thinking about his circumstances with his own family. There was a...financial aspect to it as well. Taking Tim for a birthday dinner, even an expensive birthday dinner, was fine. He could sort of justify the Christmas gifts, too...but he could also see that maybe it had been too much too fast. If Tim had already been feeling like he was losing control, getting extravagant gifts might have made him feel like his debt to Armie was growing no matter what Armie said about that not being the case. Tim had even _said_ back when Armie was paying his phone bill that he didn’t want to owe Armie any more. And what did Armie do? Pile on more “gifts” and then add a forty thousand dollar tuition bill to the tab.

God, he was an asshole. An asshole who was trying to do something nice, but an asshole nonetheless.

Armie downed the rest of his second drink and immediately held up a hand for the third. Yes, he had royally fucked up. He could see that now.

During the third drink — and at this point he allowed himself to be moved from their table and re-settled at the bar so that the waiter could take another patiently waiting party — he tried to think about the other things Tim had said. Not just at dinner, but for the past few weeks, any time Tim had seemed upset or scared of what they were doing. He kept talking about some hypothetical future when Armie wouldn’t want him anymore, and that was baffling. How the fuck would it ever be true that there would ever be a time when he wouldn’t want Tim? This was the point when Armie began to try to imagine a life without Tim.

It was a bleak, frightening prospect. To never be able to run a thumb across his recently-bitten bottom lip, to never suck on that space just below his ear that made him purr, to never feel those soft curls nestled under his chin during the night, to never hear him talk about his music, to never hear him laugh, to never see that face he made when he thought Armie was being ridiculous…

How had it been only a _week_ since he had realized he was in love with Tim? Surely, he had spent his entire life loving this boy. Surely, this love had been embedded in his cells since birth. Since before that...since the the fish had crawled from the sea, since the one cell split into two. Since the stars were formed.

At least the bartender agreed with him. The very wise bearded man with the scotch said he was sure Armie and Tim belonged together, and Armie took some comfort in that.

During the fourth drink — which they almost didn’t give him until he pulled a crisp hundred out of his wallet and slid it across the bartop, all the while swearing it would be his last and that he wasn’t driving home — he had focused on what to _do_ now that he thought he had a handle on the problem. He couldn’t change the fact that he was rich as sin and Tim had nothing. That imbalance wasn’t going to change anytime soon. He _could_ stop paying for extra things and buying extra things for Tim, beyond providing temporarily free housing. He hated the idea of that, but he could do it, if Tim really needed him to.

No more gifts, then. No more taking care of things _for_ Tim, instead of _with_ him.

But that didn’t solve the problem of Tim not being able to go back to school, which he wanted, or of Tim being afraid that Armie was going to drop him, which was irrational, both because Armie wouldn’t and because any relationship involved that risk. He’d have to think on those more, because once he knocked back the last of the fourth scotch he was feeling...foggy.

He got to his feet, waited for the room to stabilize, and then shakily made his way out of the restaurant, even managing to claim his coat and make sure Tim had taken his.

One blurry cab ride later, Armie was standing in front of his house and looking up at the dark windows.

_Maybe Tim would be in his bed, waiting for him. Maybe he had calmed down and missed Armie and Armie would find him just like he had on Christmas Eve._

_Maybe Tim was still mad, and he’d have chosen to sleep in his own room, but when Armie woke him up, he’d be willing to talk._

Armie climbed the stairs and unlocked the door. He made more noise than he meant to as he entered, but figured that was okay. Maybe Tim would wake on his own because of it.

After hanging up his coat and kicking off his boots, Armie peeked down the hall. The guest room door was open and the room was dark, which meant Tim probably wasn’t there.

Armie smiled. In his bed, then. He would go up and make things right. He’d apologize. Take back the tuition. Tell Tim it was his choice, promise not to do anything like that again. Explain that he got it, that he had been wrong.

But upstairs...the bed was empty.

Armie looked quickly around the house, eventually heading for the guest room. Maybe Tim had left the door open as an invitation. He hadn’t wanted to presume it would be okay to be in Armie’s bed after the fight, but wanted Armie to find him. By the time he reached the doorway, Armie was ready to sweep Tim into his arms.

Instead, he was greeted with another empty bed.

It wasn’t just empty, it was untouched. Neatly made, as it had been for days, since Tim hadn’t been using it. Well, he wasn’t using it now, either. Tim wasn’t there.

Armie’s stomach turned to ice. Where was he?

His things were still there. Clothes, duffle, guitar...he hadn’t taken anything with him. Maybe he hadn’t come home at all after leaving the restaurant. Armie glanced at his phone. How had it gotten to be midnight already?

_Where was he?_

Armie sank onto Tim’s bed and thought. When Tim had left the restaurant, he had said he “needed time.” Time for what? He must have gone somewhere to avoid having to talk to Armie for the rest of the night.

That thought made bile rise in Armie’s throat. He had hurt Tim so badly Tim needed to be away from him. _Fuck_.

He pulled out his phone, then hesitated. Should he text Tim? If Tim needed time to be away from Armie, then was texting him the same as chasing after him?

Probably.

Armie sat, clutching his phone in his hand. It was cold out, and wet, with all that snow. The idea that Tim was out there somewhere, unable to come home….

He pulled up Tim’s info and tapped out a message before he could change his mind.

_Armie: I know you said you need time. But I’m home, and you’re not here, and it’s scaring me._

He hesitated, then tapped out another message.

_Armie: I was wrong. I was so wrong. I’m sorry, I get it. I can’t believe I crossed the line like that—I have no idea what the fuck I was thinking. I won’t do it again. I promise. Please come home so we can talk._

The silence stretched around him. There were lights blazing in the rest of the condo, but the guest room itself was dark, save for the screen of his phone.

A minute passed, then two, then three. Ten. Twenty.

Armie slowly lowered himself onto Tim’s bed.  He curled himself around Tim’s pillow, his knees pulled up into a fetal position, phone still clutched in his hands.

After thirty minutes, he sent one more text.

_Armie: I won’t bother you again tonight. Just please let me know you’re safe, and have somewhere to sleep._

Thirty seconds later, he got a response.

_Tim: I’m somewhere safe._

That was it. Three little words. But they were enough for something to uncoil inside Armie’s chest, and it allowed him to drift into a troubled sleep.

* * *

 In the morning, Armie woke up slowly. He opened his eyes, blinking away grit and looking into the grey gloom around him. It took him a second of disoriented confusion before he realized that he was curled up tightly on top of the bed in the guest room, gripping his phone tightly in his hand.

Still groggy, he reached out blindly and was met only by the smooth comforter of the still-made bed. Something was missing, something was wrong.

_Tim._

Memories of the night before came rushing in, and he choked on them, coughing into the pillow. Tim’s pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of pain, in his head and in his chest. He tried to move, and winced at the soreness of his shoulders and neck. He couldn’t even be annoyed about it, because it was no more than he deserved.

Rolling onto his back, he blinked at his phone. It was just after six-thirty. He should get up. Get dressed. Or rather, get dressed in something different; he was still wearing his suit from the night before. It was going to be a wrinkled mess, he should hang it up. Swing by the dry cleaners.

He wished he didn’t have to open up the pub that morning. That he could stay home waiting for Tim to return. If he closed his eyes, maybe he could go back to sleep long enough for the night before to have been just a bad dream.

_Fuck_ , he thought. He had breakfast scheduled with Liz at eight, and had assumed Tim would take care of opening.

He considered texting, but Tim had made it clear the night before that he didn’t want to hear from Armie. So instead, he called the only other person he could think of.

It took two tries, but eventually Nick answered.

“What the fuck, Armie.”

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” Armie said. “I know it’s early.”

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Instantly, the thickness of sleep cleared from Nick’s voice.

“Nothing. I mean, I hate to ask this, but I could use your help opening up today. Just for a few hours. I’m meeting with Liz at eight, and...it won’t take long.” He really did hate to ask. It was the day of the guy’s bachelor party, and he was getting married in four days.

“Yeah, okay. Of course. Why can’t Tim do it? He going with you or something?”

“No, he…” Armie closed his eyes against another wave of intense pain pounding in his head. “He’s not available.”

There was a pause. “Armie,” Nick said, “what happened?”

“I don’t...we had a fight, and he’s...taking some time.” Armie choked out the last part.

“What the hell did you do?” asked Nick. “Three days ago he looked like he had won seventeen lotteries. How did you screw this up so fast?”

“I didn’t—“ Armie sighed. “Yes, I fucked up. I’m going to fix it, somehow. But for now—“

“Yes, I’ll open up for you. I assume you’re meeting with Liz to settle things?”

“Get the process started, anyhow,” said Armie. “Also, can you do me a favor?”

“I’m already doing you a favor.”

“Another one?” With intense effort, Armie pushed himself to a seated position, then clutched his forehead. Damn. He hadn’t been hungover like this in years.

“Anything for you.”

“If you talk to him? If he — I don’t know, if he calls to try to back out of tonight — don’t let him, okay? Just...I need to talk to him. To see him.”

Armie was praying Tim wouldn’t avoid the bachelor party...though it was likely, since he had only really been invited because of Armie.

“Sure,” said Nick. “I’ll make sure he’s there tonight.”

“Thanks,” said Armie.

Ten minutes later, he had managed to lurch up the stairs and into his bathroom, where he turned on the shower as hot as it would go and stood under the stream, trying to burn off all the wretchedness he was feeling.

It didn’t work, but it did help the headache. Taking a handful of ibuprofen with about a gallon of water helped a little more, and by the time he stepped off the T at Park Street he was feeling mostly human. An exhausted human who loathed himself, but a human nonetheless.

Liz was waiting for him in the dining room at the Omni Parker House Restaurant, looking bright and well-put-together, as always. She took one look at him in his rumpled flannel and worn jeans and gaped.

“What the hell happened to you?” she asked, as he pulled out the chair opposite hers and sank into it with relief. “Let me guess; you and Tim partied a little hard last night and you tried to make your old bod keep up with his baby one?”

He gave her a look, and she raised her hands. “Sorry, sorry. Listen, you’ve got to give me a chance to get a shot in now and then. I figure it’s my right.”

The waiter came by when he noticed that Armie had joined the table.

“Coffee,” said Armie. “And the corned beef hash, eggs over easy.” He glanced at Liz. “You order yet?”

She rolled her eyes. “I was waiting for you. I’ll have the Banana and Pecan French Toast,” she said to the waiter.

When he moved away, she scrutinized Armie more closely. “Jesus, Hammer. You truly look like shit. And not just because your eyes are baggy and red and you’re sweating alcohol. Want to tell me what happened?”

“No,” said Armie. “Can we just get this over with?”

She sighed. “Yes. Fine. So...that’s it, then?”

“What’s ‘it’? You mean us?”

“Of course I mean us. I assumed after Christmas Eve that that was your final answer. Was I wrong?”

He shook his head. “No, you weren’t wrong. I told you a week ago that this was...that _we_ were over. That it had been for a while.” He watched her carefully. She didn’t seem mad. In fact, she seemed… “What’s that look?” he asked.

“What look?”

“I expected you to be...I don’t know. To want to throw things at me or stick pins under my fingernails. But you look sort of...relieved.”

She smiled slightly. “I think maybe I am,” she said. “I had some time to think over the last few days. And I decided — once I got over my pride — that you were right. Things have been off for a while. I mean...it’s not a good sign when couples spend less time together and don’t seem to mind, right?”

“I thought you minded.” He sent the waiter a smile of gratitude when the man dropped off his coffee, and then frowned at Liz. “You complained a lot when I had to work instead of doing things with you.”

She shrugged. “No one likes to feel like they aren’t important.”

“You were important,” said Armie. “You never stopped being important. Just…”

“Not as important as I had been. Or as important as the pub.” She leaned forward and patted his hand. “It’s okay. It went both ways.”

Armie took a sip of his coffee and tried to digest what she was saying. “So you agree. That we’re wrong for each other.”

“More that we aren’t what we had built each other up to be. That’s the issue, isn’t it? I had these ideas in my head about what a future with you would look like. And you probably had your own about me. But...they weren’t real. They didn’t match each other, or what was going on.” She looked away a moment, shook her head slightly. “You want someone who can work in the pub with you, build it with you. Stay under the radar. And that’s not me. I want someone who can actually enjoy being a networking partner, someone who wants a little spotlight and can be part of a personal brand. That is definitely not you.”

“Definitely not,” he said. “A personal brand? Sounds like fucking torture.”

“So, yes. As much as I hate to admit that I’ve been wrong about something...yes. I agree we’re not right for each other.”

“But last weekend—“

“Last weekend caught me by surprise. I wasn’t...I had never thought you’d stray. I thought you were a guarantee. And when I started to suspect that there was something going on with you and Tim, I...freaked out a bit.”

The waiter appeared with their food, and Armie took the opportunity to digest what Liz has just told him. He should have expected that she’d eventually land in this spot. She was entirely too pragmatic for any sort of raging or other emotional displays.

After a few minutes of eating in silence, Armie spoke up.

“I do want to clarify something,” he said, fixing her with his gaze. “You said you never thought I’d...stray? When I said I wasn’t cheating on you, I was telling the truth. I hadn’t — we hadn’t —“ He sighed. “That night, that you came to the pub? That was when I figured it out. What it was I was feeling. Before that, I just knew I cared about him. A lot. It was overwhelming, how much I cared, and a little confusing. But that night something shifted, and suddenly it all got clear. I kissed him. And I swear that was the extent of it. So if I strayed, it was...emotionally. Not physically, other than that one kiss.”

She was quiet for a moment, seeming to struggle internally with something. Finally, she said, “In the alley or in the office?”

“What?”

“Did you kiss him in the alley or in the office?” asked Liz.

“The...office.” Armie scratched a hand through his hair and stared down at his plate, unable to meet her eyes. “Though it might have happened in the alley first if you hadn’t opened that door. That’s when...I knew something then.”

She nodded. “You definitely looked guilty both times. So did Tim, in a different way. He overcompensates.”

Armie thought back to Tim’s quick movement and chatter on both occasions. He also considered all the other times Tim had pulled away from him over the past couple of weeks — after the phone incident, after Liz’s display that night when they got home, that morning while Liz made breakfast, after Armie had told Tim about Liz’s news — Liz was right. Tim overcompensated when he thought his emotions or actions were inappropriate or unwelcome. Hell, he had been doing that the entire time they knew each other, not letting Armie get too close even though he had — apparently — been aware of his feelings far longer than Armie had.

Was he overcompensating now, too? Pulling away in order to protect himself?

“Well, I just wanted you to know. Other than that one kiss, nothing had happened.” He finished his coffee and signaled for another cup. “And I’m sorry that I let myself get so far down the path of...developing feelings...before telling you.”

“And now?” she asked. “I’m assuming you two are…”

“We haven’t slept together,” he said, quickly. “But...yeah.” He averted his eyes and fuck if he didn’t feel himself blushing slightly, thinking about what they _had_ done.

“That good?” When he looked up, Liz was smirking at him. “Then who’s putting the brakes on? You or him?”

“Him.” Armie was slightly surprised this conversation was less awkward than he had expected. But then, Liz had always taken things in stride once she had had the opportunity to adjust. “He thought we should go slow until…” He shrugged.

“Until you had ditched me for good?”

“Until you and I had straightened things out.” He frowned. “He seems convinced that I’m going to change my mind and decide to stay with you, or that I’m going to regret choosing him once the baby is born. I keep telling him that’s not possible, but he’s…”

_He’s scared it’s going to all evaporate,_ Armie realized. _He thinks this is momentary insanity, and that I’ll eventually come to my senses and let him go._

The thought made Armie’s stomach drop. It was no more than Tim had been telling him, but maybe Tim was right: Armie hadn’t been listening. Or rather, he’d been listening, but he hadn’t been hearing the depth of emotion behind what Tim was saying.

More than that, in the context of last night’s argument, Armie was now hearing something else when remembering those comments. Tim wasn’t just protecting his heart by pushing this “you’ll regret it” narrative. He was protecting himself physically and financially as well. After all, if things didn’t work out, and Tim was living in Armie’s house, and working at the pub...and his _tuition was being paid_ by Armie...he’d have nothing.

Tim had _said_ that. A few times. And again, Armie had listened, but not really _heard_ , so wrapped up in his own giddy feelings about Tim.

As far as letting Tim end up with nothing...Armie was never going to let that happen. Even if things didn’t work out -- which he simply couldn’t believe -- if it were up to him, he would never turn Tim out like that. No matter what happened.

But there was no way Tim could know that for sure. Armie wished Tim could trust him, and have faith in him about that, but he supposed it was a natural thing to be worried about. The idea that Tim was having these fears was physically painful to Armie, especially because there was literally nothing Armie could do to alleviate them. Was there?

“Armie. Hey, Hammer.” Liz’s voice cut through the haze he had fallen into. He looked up, tried to focus on her. “There you are. Where the hell did you go just now?”

He shook his head. “Just thinking,” he said.

She peered at him. “Oh no,” she said, understanding dawning. “You fucked it up, didn’t you? That’s why you look like shit. Did he already leave? What did you do?”

“I didn’t...he’s not…” Armie sighed and let his head fall into his hands. “He didn’t leave. He just...he said he needed some time and took off last night.”

“Because you…” prompted Liz. “Come on, what misguided boneheaded move did you pull?”

He raised his head. “Are you sure you want to talk about this?”

“Why the hell not? We’ve come this far.” Then she smiled softly. “And...after all, we started as friends. It would be a damned shame if we didn’t end up there as well.”

_Fuck it,_ he thought. She wanted to talk about it, he’d talk about it. She was smart, maybe she’d think of something he hadn’t.

He told her about the birthday dinner, about the tuition. To his surprise, she burst out laughing.

“I promise you it’s not funny.” He frowned.

“No,” she said. “It’s really not. But you are. Armie, you really and truly thought it was anywhere _close_ to the vicinity of appropriate to pay his tuition and _re-enroll_ him? He’s not your child. That is truly some fucked up bullshit.”

He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “I see that now. But at the time I was just thinking that this is something he wants, and I could give it to him. I wanted to surprise him. To show him...how much he means to me. I wanted him to be happy.”

“Would you ever have pulled something like that with me?”

“I...maybe. But there wasn’t an opportunity. You didn’t need me.”

She laughed softly. “Yes, I did. And you gave me what I needed, which was you. Your support, and attention, and belief in me...that’s what I needed from you.”

He stared at her. “I never really felt like you needed me.”

“Then...that’s my fault for never letting you know. But even though Tim was in a rough spot when you met, and is still working through it, he needs you in the same way I did. He doesn’t need you to be his parent or his savior. God, no wonder he walked off. It would have pissed me off, too.”

Armie considered this, especially the “savior” part, since Tim had accused him of wanting to be Superman. “But he _does_ need me in that other way,” he said, after a minute. “He needed me to get him off the floor of the T station and give him a place to stay and a job. He needed me to force him not to be stubborn about accepting help.”

“Sure. And those are all good things you did. Think about this, though. Tim needed his _friend_ Armie in those circumstances. Why do you think he was so stubborn about accepting your help?” Liz sat back and sipped her coffee, her gaze steady on him.

He thought. He remembered that first morning, when he had gotten Tim home and was trying to convince him to come inside. What had Tim said? “He said that he especially didn’t want me to see him like that. Because he didn’t want me to think that that was the real him.”

“So why especially you?” Liz asked.

“Well...he already had feelings for me,” Armie realized.

“Look. I’m not Tim. I don’t even really know him. But it sounds to me like he needed his friend Armie to help him out of a tough spot, and his... _boyfriend_ Armie to be there for him as a partner, not as a provider.”

“Holy shit,” said Armie. “You’ve missed your true calling. You should be a relationship therapist.”

She laughed. “It’s only because I know you so well. For most people I wouldn’t care enough to try.”

“This is all great,” said Armie. “And I can take back the tuition and apologize, but it doesn’t change the fact that he still does need my help in terms of getting back on his feet.”

“So maybe you have to wait to start anything with him until he is. He could move out, get a different job—”

“It’s too late, Liz,” Armie said, thinking back to the night before, and trying to imagine a life without Tim. “I can’t...there’s just no way. I mean, if he wants to work somewhere else, obviously he can.” Although that was tough to admit, since he wanted Tim involved in the pub. Badly. “But he can’t just move out. I couldn’t...I need him.”

“Jesus, you do have it bad,” Liz murmured. “I think...maybe you need to dial it back a bit, though. Even if it’s not what you want, maybe it’s what he needs. And if I’m remembering correctly, didn’t you say that even if you and I stayed together, Tim would be a part of your life, as a friend? Has that changed?”

He hated the thought of that, but had to admit that maybe Liz was right. He wouldn’t know the right way forward until he talked to Tim, anyway, so he could think about it until that evening.

Assuming Nick would have managed to get Tim to come to the bachelor party and assuming Tim would give him a chance.

Tim had to give him a chance. He wouldn’t have responded to the text the night before if there wasn’t a chance. Right?

He looked at Liz and smiled. “Thanks,” he said. “You didn’t have to talk to me about this. I didn’t mean to dump this on you, of all people. I just wanted to make sure you know that I’m planning to fully support the baby, and whatever you need, as well. To tell you I’ll call the lawyer and have him contact you to draw up an agreement.”

“Yes, well. About that.”

“I mean it, Liz,” he said. “Just because we aren’t working out doesn’t mean you can’t count on me a hundred percent. Not just the baby, but you. Tell me what you need. I want to be a part of this in every way I can.” He chuckled. “I’m even starting to feel excited about the idea.”

The fact that his excitement was, in part, about sharing it with Tim was beside the point.

“Armie, stop. Shit. I should have…” She trailed her fingers through her ponytail. “Listen. It’s fine if you get mad and storm out and hate me a little because I deserve it. Just...maybe try to understand the position I was in and be…”

“Liz—“

“There’s no baby.” She said it in a rush, almost as if it was one word, staring down at the table. When he didn’t respond right away, she looked up through her lashes.

He struggled to make sense of the three words she had uttered, but they rattled around in his brain as if disconnected from one another.

“No baby?”

She shook her head.

A chill settled over him and something started to ache in his chest. “Liz. Did you...after Christmas, did you go and...you should have told me, I would have come with you or—“

“No,” she said. She fidgeted in her chair, not quite meeting his eyes. “I didn’t have an abortion. I...there was never a baby. I made it up.”

“You...you made it up?” Armie gaped as her words registered.

“Look, I panicked. You were breaking up with me, and had made up your mind, and I just needed some time to figure out what to do. I didn’t plan it, it just popped out, and once I said it…” She swallowed. “It was a shitty thing to do. I’m sorry.”

“You made it up.” Armie stared at her, still having a hard time believing what she had just told him.

“How much do you hate me right now?” she asked.

The ache in his chest deepened. There was no baby. That was...a relief. It made things easier. Tim didn’t have to worry about being a wedge that drove apart a family — not that he was, but Armie knew he had concerns about that — and Armie could be with Tim without feeling any guilt whatsoever.

And yet...he had gotten used to the idea of a baby. It was still hard to wrap his head around it completely, but pictures of a near future in which he and Tim could snuggle his child had become so clear and enticing.

There was no baby. There was _never_ a baby. He couldn’t miss what he had never had, right?

So...for now, he was going to be relieved, and worry about the other strange emotions later.

Liz was waiting for him to respond, looking like she wasn’t sure whether to tilt her chin up proudly or turn tail and flee. He honestly didn’t have a clue how to address her. She had lied to him about something important, had messed with his emotions, had thrown a wrench in his developing relationship with Tim. She had lashed out selfishly and her actions had consequences.

And yet…

He took in her half-defiant half-apologetic expression and burst out laughing.

“What are you...what’s so funny?” she asked.

“You are,” he said. “You are ridiculous.” He brushed away a tear and laughed some more. She smiled at him, but looked nervous.

“So you’re not...mad?”

“Oh, I’m furious,” he said. “And hurt. But...I have too much else to worry about right now and so I just don't have energy for it. I’ll be mad at you later.”

“Oh. Okay,” she said. “I guess...let me know when you are? You can yell at me a little, feel better?”

He stood. “For now, brunch is on you,” he said. “For putting me through that shit.”

“No problem. And the relationship advice is gratis as well. What are you going to do?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know yet. Talk to Tim, to start. If he’ll see me.”

“Well...” She rose too. “For what it’s worth, that kid isn’t going to give you up easily. He’s as far gone as you are.”

“You think?” asked Armie.

“How could he help it?” she said. “I mean, look at you. You’re a sexy morherfucker.”

Armie smirked. “Tim said something similar, at some point. Before any of this really started.”

“It started months ago,” said Liz. “And you both know it.”

He moved to her then and wrapped his arms around her. She seemed surprised for a moment, and then returned the hug.

Despite everything, maybe they could stay friends after all.

As he left the Omni Parker House and hurried through the snowy streets to the T, Armie felt a little better than he had that morning. He still didn’t know what to do, but he at least felt like he had a place to start.

As he reached the subway entrance, he stopped and looked around. The weather was bright and sunny, warmer than it had been. He texted Nick that he was on his way but would be a little longer, then turned to walk through the Boston Common.

The ninety minute walk back to Davis Square would give him some much needed exercise and some space to think.

* * *

When he entered _Cor Cordium_ just before noon, he had started to think through some possible solutions to the problems Liz had helped him identify. Obviously, he needed to withdraw the tuition. But he also wondered if he should return the Christmas gifts as well, the computer and the home recording equipment. He wouldn’t do that without talking to Tim, but he’d be willing to do it if it would make Tim feel less like Armie was dominating and controlling his life.

He could also help Tim find another job. He hated that, too, but there was time for Tim to come back to _Cor Cordium_ once things between them settled and there was less concern about dependency and imbalance.

The bottom line was that they needed to talk.

The pub was open, with a handful of tables filled. Nick was behind the bar, stocking glassware, when Armie entered. Nick glanced towards the back hall before waving.

“Welcome back,” said Nick. “How’d it go? You look like you’re in one piece, is she?”

Armie nodded and slid onto a stool. “It’s fine. Better than fine, actually. She...you know what? It’s a long story. If you want to head out, you can.”

Nick glanced towards the back again. “Or I could stay,” said Nick. “What time is your meeting with the realtor?”

“Noon,” said Armie, glancing at the clock.

Just then, the door to the pub opened, and a petite woman with a no-nonsense look on her face entered. She saw Armie and waved, a smile lightening her features.

Armie waved back and got to his feet. “Realtor,” he said to Nick.

“Why don’t I stay until you’re done? I don’t mind.”

Armie shrugged. “You’re more than welcome to stay, but there’s really no need. Go home, do whatever Stacy needs you to do, and meet me at the Capital Grille at seven-thirty.”

Nick wiped his hands on a rag. “Okay. I’ll just take a run through the back, make sure everything’s all set, before I go.”

Armie clapped him on the shoulder and thanked him again, and then turned to the realtor, who was approaching.

“Laura,” he said. “Good to see you.”

“You too, Armie.” She smiled warmly and shook his hand. “This is exciting, thinking about expanding this place.”

“I think so,” Armie agreed. “Let’s have a seat and talk.” He waved her over to a corner booth. “Can I get you something to drink? Lunch?”

“Just an iced tea, if you’ve got it,” she replied.

“Be right back.”

He returned to the bar and poured her a glass. He pulled himself a Sam Adams, thinking it might help to finish clearing the last of the cobwebs from his brain.

As he was topping off the pour, someone said, “Can I get one, too, or do you need to see my I.D.?”

He froze. He leveled the glass and looked up slowly. Standing in front of him was Tim. He looked…okay. There were light shadows under his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept well, but otherwise...he was wearing fresh clothes, not the outfit from the night before. That meant he had been home. The thought was reassuring.

Armie drank in the sight of him for as long as he dared, not wanting to move. Tim’s eyes were a mossy green, the color they got when he was feeling anxious, and he used the long fingers of his right hand to tuck a stray curl behind his ear before resting his palm on the counter.

The slight tremor in Tim’s hand did not escape Armie’s attention. Nor did the fact that Tim wasn’t meeting his eyes.

“You...you’re…” Armie reached out and gripped Tim’s forearm gently, as if trying to determine if he was real. He swallowed. “What are you doing here?” he asked, quietly.

Now, Tim did lift his eyes to Armie’s. “I work here. And we have a meeting.”

“Right,” said Armie. But I didn’t think...I thought you’d…”

“You thought I wouldn’t show up.  Yeah, that was clear when I got here to open and Nick had just arrived.” Tim licked his lips. “Look,” he said, “is it a problem I’m here? If we’re not...if this isn’t going to work out with us, does that mean I don’t have a job anymore?”

“No,” said Armie, even though his stomach dropped when Tim said _if this isn’t going to work out with us_ as though it had already been determined. “No, of course not. You always have a job here. Whether or not we...you and I…” He cleared his throat when he began to choke on the words.

“Good to know,” said Tim. He looked a little relieved.

“Tim,” whispered Armie. His hand was still on Tim’s arm, and he squeezed slightly. “Timmy. We need to talk. Please. I—“

“Not now,” said Tim.

“But—“

“We have a meeting,” said Tim. He pulled his hand away. “And I’m not ready yet. So...pour me a beer and let’s take care of business.”

Armie nodded. He watched as Tim turned and approached the realtor, smiled and shook her hand. Then he quickly pulled a beer for Tim and gathered all three glasses to bring to the table.

The meeting went smoothly. Smoothly, aside from the fact that Armie could feel Tim sitting beside him, as though there were electrodes running between them delivering a steady pulse of current. Tim’s left arm rested on the table six inches from Armie’s right, their thighs less than a foot apart on the bench seat. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the movement of Tim’s curls, the jut of his chin. And when he spoke…

Tim’s voice, whether he was singing or speaking, had always had a way of traveling straight into Armie’s core. It made him shiver inside.  

Somehow, Armie kept it together. They talked about the retail space, the apartments upstairs, potential renovations, costs, and timetables.

“Regardless of structural renovations,” Tim spoke up at one point, “we would at least need to make acoustic renovations. At the very minimum, we would want to add soundproof panels to the ceiling to prevent noise from traveling up to the apartments as much as possible.”

Armie shot Tim a proud smile. He had been thinking something similar, and to have Tim voice his thoughts was...further proof that they were meant to be partners. In some way, if not in all ways.

“If you purchase the building, what would you do with the apartments?” asked Laura. “The tenants there have leases through August of next year, so they would either need to be allowed to stay or bought out.”

“They can stay,” said Armie. “Ultimately, I might want to change the use of the upper floors, but for the time being, I don’t mind having them as rentals. I’d want to hire a management company, though. I have too much to do to worry about collecting rent.”

“I can recommend you one,” said Laura. “What other uses do you and your partner envision?”

Armie's stomach did a loop at the word  _partner_. He didn't know in which way she meant it; she probably thought he and Tim were business partners. That was fine. If he eventually got what he wanted, they would be that and much more.

"Oh, I'm not--" began Tim. Armie cut him off by laying his hand softly over Tim's. Just for a moment, but long enough for Tim to stop talking.

“Actually,” Armie took his hand back and glanced at Tim, who was looking at him curiously. “Tim and I haven’t had a chance to talk about this yet, so it’s not a sure thing. It’s a newish idea. But I was thinking about something like private rehearsal spaces or recording spaces.”

Tim blinked at him. “That’s a good idea,” he said quietly. “Really make _Cor Cordium_ a place for developing music, not just performing it. We could work that into the club schedule, too...once a month let acts that have rented space do a showcase or...a workshop.”

“Glad you like it,” said Armie. “I was also thinking...there are artists who teach to make ends meet, and they could use the spaces for that, too. So they don’t have to have people in their homes or go to other people’s homes. A neutral studio for lessons, or a...sort of community studio where musicians and students sign up and get matched.”

Tim’s eyes widened in surprise. “When did you come up with that?” he asked.

“When you told me you might want to teach,” Armie said honestly. “It got me thinking...long term."

Something flickered in Tim’s eyes, and they turned a deeper shade of green. “It’s...I’m happy I could help you come up with that, because it’s a great idea.”

Armie felt Tim’s knee shift to press against his under the table. His heart leapt. Maybe things weren’t as bleak as he had thought. He pressed back lightly.

At the end of the meeting, Armie had a good sense of what the owner was looking for in terms of purchase price, and what he might be expected to pay in lease for the downstairs retail only, renovations allowed. The realtor agreed to speak with the owner, and Armie said he’d get back to her within a month about making a purchase offer.

After Laura had left, Armie turned to Tim. The kid had shoved his hands in his pockets and was scuffing a foot on the floor.

“Want to step out back?” offered Armie. “Talk?”

“Armie—“

“About the meeting only, if you want to keep it to business,” Armie said quickly.

Tim looked up from under his disordered curls and gave a tight smile. “Better not,” he said. “That spot is a little...dangerous at the moment.”

“Then let’s sit down, have another beer.” Armie gestured at the corner booth. “Less dangerous. We can sit on opposite sides. I won’t—“

“Actually, I’m going to head out, if that’s okay,” said Tim. “Since I opened and all. Looks like things are under control here, and I’m supposed to…there’s something I need to take care of.”

“Oh,” said Armie. Inside he was screaming _no please stay_ but he just said, “Sure, whatever you need.”

Tim looked straight at him, then. There was too much sadness in his eyes, Armie thought. He’d rather there be anger. Anger meant he hadn’t given up. Had Tim given up, despite what he had felt during the meeting?

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?” said Tim.

“You’re still going to Nick’s party?” asked Armie, relieved.

“Yeah. Unless you don’t want me—“

“I do. Of course I do. And Nick does too.”

Tim gave him a half smile then. “Yeah, he told me. So I’ll see you there. I just don’t want...can we just pretend we’re friends and things aren’t a mess for tonight? I’m not ready to talk yet, and I don’t want things to be weird for Nick or anyone else.”

Armie’s heart shattered into twenty-seven pieces, but he took some comfort in the fact that Tim said he wasn’t ready to talk _yet_. Which meant he would be ready to talk at some point, and wasn’t planning on just giving up. Right?

“Yes. Whatever you want. I can...I can do that. Be friends. For tonight.”

“Just for tonight?” Tim bit his lip. “At one point you said that if things didn’t happen between us, if you stayed with Liz, you still wanted to be friends. Did you change your mind, or—“

“No. I didn't change anything. If that’s what you're willing to give me, I’ll take it, Tim. Whatever you want. I told you that.” Armie frowned. He _wasn’t_ sure he’d be able to just be friends with Tim. Not really. But he would damned well _try_ , if he had to, in order to keep the kid in his life.

“Okay. Okay, good. So...we practice that. Tonight.”

Armie nodded. Then he remembered the other thing Tim’s comment made him think of. “I saw Liz today,” he said. “You’ll never believe what—“

But Tim held up a hand, silencing Armie. “Not yet,” he said. “Please. Just leave it for now.”

“I...okay. You’ll tell me when you’re ready to talk?”

“Of course I will.” Tim cocked his head to the side. “In the meantime, let’s stick to non-controversial topics, like how much the Sox suck in comparison to—“

“ _Tim_. Don’t even think about saying what you’re about to say,” said Armie, unable to help the weak grin that broke out on his face. 

“Just saying. If it hadn’t been for—“

“Out. Get out. Before you get jumped.” Laughing, Armie pointed toward the door. In part to go along with the joke, in part because if Tim _didn’t_ leave, Armie was pretty sure he’d break down and grab him, or fall to his knees and start begging.

“I’m going, I’m going.” Tim went the other way, towards the back. “Grabbing my coat first, but then I’m going.”

When Tim slipped through the main room and out the front door a few minutes later, Armie was mixing a drink behind the bar. He waved, and Tim waved back. Then he hunched his shoulders and walked out.

Armie stared at the closed door for a full minute before returning to his work, hoping Tim would come back. When he didn’t, Armie took comfort in the fact that he’d see Tim that evening, and that, no matter what happened, Tim seemed to be trying to find a way forward as much as Armie himself was.

He couldn’t wait to tell Tim about the conversation with Liz. About his own realizations. And, thanks to Tim’s showing up to work and participating in the meeting despite their fight, he was starting to come up with a few other ideas about how to deal with the root problems they faced.

But there were two things he knew for sure. First, that he wasn’t moving forward on a single one without talking to Tim.

Second, that there was no way he was willing to accept a world without Tim in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be curious to hear what you think about this one, particularly the last scene.
> 
> And those of you who guessed it all...get out of my head. (Just kidding, stay in there, I could use the friendly company.)
> 
> We've got one more to go. In Part One. (Though there is a small chance I'll end up breaking it in two...I ended this one a little earlier in the timeline than I intended, so...we'll see how it goes once the rest is written.)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie throws Nick a bachelor party, and Tim makes things difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I had to do it. I had to split this chapter in two, so there's still one left. Really this time, that's it. I know I'm the writer who cried wolf, but better I underestimate so that you keep getting extra chapters than I overestimate, right?
> 
> I'm still aiming to finish Part One by the end of the weekend, but can't make any promises.
> 
> This chapter is (a bit) less angsty and laced with (a bit) more hope than the last one was.
> 
> Hang in there...the end (of Part One) is in the crosshairs.
> 
> Playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6l6P5IdowCfwyJKE5stDJN
> 
> 1\. Victim of Love -- Charles Bradley  
> 2\. Don’t Give Up On Me -- Solomon Burke  
> 3\. Lovin’ You, Baby -- Charles Bradley  
> 4\. There Can Be Only One -- Cass McCombs  
> 5\. Through the Storm -- Charles Bradley  
> 6\. None of Us Are Free -- Solomon Burke  
> 7\. Guilty -- Lady Wray  
> 8\. Love & Hate -- Michael Kiwanuka  
> 9\. How Long -- Charles Bradley

**Chapter 21**

There were many things about the lifestyle Armie had been raised in, and the one Liz had wanted, that repulsed him. The charade that was performed at all times around him was one of the worst. He had always hated the false personas he had detected -- even at a young age -- amongst his peers, his parents, and everyone else with whom he came into contact. It always seemed to him that there was very little authentic in that world, because appearances and status and prestige were more important than real achievement and genuine identity.

He had spent much of his teen years struggling to find his own identity. Who was Armie Hammer? He knew he wasn’t his father, and he was glad of that. He definitely wasn’t his mother, either, or his brother. He had always felt a little like someone had cut him a little more roughly than the rest of his family, leaving jagged edges so that he never quite fit neatly into place.

At twenty-six, he still wasn’t sure he knew who he was, but he had become comfortable with the fact that he may never fully know. After all, wasn’t life, by definition, a puzzle, a work in progress? You try things, see if they work, pull them out if they don’t, refine them, until you find the piece that feels right. Then you move on to the next, and the next, circling back around every once in a while to re-examine previously settled pieces to see if they still fit.

As Armie entered the private dining room at the Capital Grille that evening, he felt like another piece had finally clicked into place, and that piece was Tim. The thought that Tim might not feel that same sense of _right_ was daunting, but Armie tried to be philosophical about it: Tim was younger, and he might be intimidated by what he was feeling, and less comfortable declaring a fit without having all of the answers. That was fine. Armie had spent most of the afternoon thinking about everything Tim had said in the pub, and he decided Tim was asking him to wait. He could do that. He would wait forever, if necessary.

He just hoped it wouldn’t take that long.

If there was one thing that Armie did appreciate about the life he had been born into, it was how much having money eased circumstances. Take Nick’s party, for example. He could afford to give his friend a lavish event -- which he deserved -- and not worry about whether people who couldn’t afford it would be excluded, because he’d pick up the whole tab. Having spent a few years scraping by before his trust became available had taught him to appreciate the bits of luxury he allowed himself even more.

Armie passed a folded bill to the maitre d’ and requested a few minutes with their server before the rest of the bachelor party arrived. The waiter was competent and experienced, and very much appreciated being tipped in advance. Armie had pre-ordered a wave of appetizers and several bottles of wine, and was settled at the table with a scotch in his hand by the time the first guests walked through the doors.

By seven, everyone had arrived except Nick...and Tim. Every time the door opened, Armie’s pulse jumped and he looked up, hoping to see Tim’s shy smile under his mop of curls, but he was constantly disappointed.

The crowd was boisterous, made up primarily of pub employees and a handful of Nick’s friends from college. Armie had opened the bar tab, so the pre-dinner cocktails were flowing, and voices were sharp and vibrant in the small space.

Finally, the door opened one last time, and Nick walked in. The room erupted in cheers and applause, and he stopped just inside the entry, dipping into an exaggerated bow. Armie grinned and raised his glass in salute, but inside, he was dying.

Maybe Tim had decided not to come after all.

Then, suddenly, he was there, standing beside Nick, two fingers of each hand shoved in the small pockets of his tight black trousers, shoulders hunched in a black, hip-length sport jacket, chin tucked against his black t-shirt, eyes on his boot-clad feet, lower lip clenched between his teeth.

Armie lost his breath for a second. Tim was dressed in black from head to toe, and everything about it was hitting Armie in exactly the right -- or wrong -- way.

Tim looked up and saw Armie. They locked eyes -- somehow, the black turned Tim’s eyes the sharp green of aventurine crystal -- and Tim released his lip from between his teeth. One side of his mouth tilted up in a smile. Then his gaze flickered to Armie’s feet and back up to his face, and the smile faded away.

Armie took a step toward him, but Tim was turning away, following Nick. Armie stopped and watched as Nick began making the rounds, introducing Tim to the people he didn’t know. He sighed and located the waiter, order both Tim and Nick a drink, and held back to wait his turn.

It seemed an hour before Nick was by his side, folding him into a one-armed hug and smacking him on the back.

“Hang in there,” he muttered in Armie’s ear. Armie gave Nick a look as he pulled away, but Nick just grinned at him. “This is fantastic. I had no idea Chuck was going to make it.”

“Yeah, he had a last minute schedule change, so we decided to surprise you. Hungry?” asked Armie.

“Famished,” said Nick. “I am looking forward to a big bloody steak and a lot of wine.”

“I can cover you on both bases.” Armie had waited as long as he possibly could, and when he couldn’t take it any longer, he let himself turn to Tim, who was standing somewhat awkwardly behind Nick. “Hey,” he said. Somehow, he made himself smile and mean it.

Tim smiled hesitantly back. “Hey.”

Nick was looking back and forth between them. He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be back,” he said. “I’m going to do another round.”

Once he was gone, there was a moment of awkward silence. Then Tim looked around the private dining room before glancing back at Armie. “This place is something.”

“They’ve got great steak,” said Armie.

“I like steak.” Tim blinked at Armie. There was a beat, and then two, as they stared at each other.

Then they both burst out laughing.

“What the fuck are we doing?” asked Armie. “‘They’ve got great steak’ and ‘I like steak.’ Is it really going to be this painful all night?”

“God, I hope not,” said Tim. “How do we fix it? Should I just...talk to other people?”

“Well…” Armie licked his lips, considered what he was about to say, and then finally just said it. “You look great.”

“Oh.” Tim blushed, and ducked his head. “Thanks. I...the jacket is new.”

“I like it. Where’d you find it?”

“A thrift store in Allston. That’s where I...it’s what I was doing this afternoon. Nick told me this place had a dress code, so I figured I needed something. It’s really okay?” Tim looked around at the rest of the crowd, and back at Armie. “I think it’s not as nice as what everyone else is wearing. But it’s a good designer.” He flipped open the left flap, exposing a well-stitched lining We...it was a good find.”

Armie gave the crowd a once-over as well. Most were in trousers and sport coats, like Tim. Armie was a little more dressed “up” than normal, but he was also in trousers -- black -- and a sport coat. His was dark grey corduroy from Ralph Lauren Purple Label, but the idea was the same.

“Tim. It’s more than okay. The whole look is…” Armie shook his head. “Black really works on you.”

“I...thank you,” said Tim. He cleared his throat. “So...Nick was pretty insistent that I shouldn’t worry about money and that everything was covered tonight, but I figured I should check in with you about that. I mean, a lot of this is sort of out of my price range, but if --”

_Shit, this again._ Armie held up a hand. “Stop. Nick was right. I’m taking care of the whole thing. For _everyone_ , not just for you, so don’t...think that I’m trying to give you money again. I’m the best man, this is my tab.”

Tim nodded. “Okay. Just as long as…I just wanted to make sure, and let you know that if you do need contributions, I can swing something now, and more later. I’m good for it.”

“I’m going to take the tuition back,” Armie blurted out before he could stop himself. “I’m going to call Monday, unless you tell me not to. Okay? I shouldn’t have done that without talking to you. I get it.”

“Armie--”

“I know, you’re not ready to talk yet. But just...I need you to know that I’ve done a lot of thinking and I understand where I fucked up, not just last night, but over and over since I’ve met you, starting with…” he paused, as another realization hit him, “...starting with when I fucking invited those other bar owners to hear you play without asking you if you wanted that. And if you give me a chance I think we can work things out so I don’t _keep_ fucking up.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I may be a boneheaded, overbearing jackass, but I _can_ learn.”

Armie tried to read the expression on Tim’s face, since Tim didn’t immediately reply. It was somewhere between hope and frustration, with a little fear mixed in. It was a blessing and a curse that everything the kid thought played out in the twitch of his lips, the slant of his brows, the color of his eyes.

Before Tim could gather his thoughts, Armie turned to the room and clapped his hands.

“Gentlemen,” he called, when people had ceased their conversations. “Welcome. We are here tonight to honor the most esteemed Niccolo delli Santi on the almost-eve of his wedding.” There was a round of cheers. Armie raised his glass. “Since this is no doubt the first of many toasts, let’s keep it simple. To Nick.”

More cheers, and the sound of ice clinking in classes. Armie downed the rest of his drink, and Tim did the same beside him.

“Now,” continued Armie, “let’s all have a seat so that we can order a bunch of steaks and get this party started.”

The guests moved around the table. Armie hadn’t set places, figuring he and Nick would sit at one end and the rest of the guests would sit where they liked. He turned to Tim, trying to decide whether to suggest Tim join him. It made sense, since Tim knew him and Nick the best, but he wasn't sure if Tim would think he was being too...forceful.

“Tim, Armie,” called Nick from the head of the table. When they looked over, he gestured to the seats on either side of him. “Come on, I’ve saved you the best spots in the house.”

Armie glanced at Tim, who shrugged. “Works for me,” said Tim. Then he smiled at Armie. He reached out a hand, and Armie held his breath. Tim trailed his fingers from Armie’s shoulder down to his forearm, feeling the soft texture of the dark grey corduroy. “You look great too, by the way.”

He turned and headed for Nick, and Armie watched him go, giving himself a second for his stomach to settle again before following.

Dinner was a success all around. The food was plentiful, the wine flowing, and Armie found himself deep in conversation with Tim again, not about what he really wanted to talk about, but like they were at the beginning, covering subjects far and wide. Armie lived inside the light he saw in Tim’s eyes as he described why, exactly, the Yankees were a superior baseball team, and Tim’s unguarded laughter as Armie responded with a vehement defense of Red Sox made his heart swell. It may have only been a day, but he had missed hearing that laugh.

About halfway through the main course, Nick stood up. “Okay,” he said, smacking Armie on the shoulder. “Just fucking switch places with me.”

“What?” Armie blinked up at Nick. “What are you doing?”

“Come on, get up.” Nick picked up his plate and his wine glass. “Move.”

Armie got to his feet, still confused. With a sigh, Nick set his wine glass down next to Armie’s, moved Armie’s to where Nick’s had been, and swapped their dinner plates. He then moved their water goblets and napkins and utensils. He put his hands on Armie’s shoulders and pushed him into the chair at the head of the table before settling himself in Armie’s chair.

Armie and Tim both stared at Nick.

“Continue,” he said, waving his hands at them. “And I’m going to talk to people who know I’m here.”

Nick turned to his right and entered an ongoing conversation with one of his college friends. Armie watched him a moment, then looked at Tim. They were now sitting beside each other at the corner of the table.

“I...guess we were ignoring him,” said Tim. There was a hint of laughter in his voice, and a spark of amusement in his eyes.

Armie chuckled. “I guess so.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose we’re not doing so badly at pretending there isn’t...a mess to deal with. With us.”

Tim sighed. “It’s just...it’s always been so easy with you. You know?”

“I do know,” said Armie.

“Which is part of the problem. It’s like _too_ easy. It shouldn’t be this easy.”

“Why the hell not?” asked Armie. “And, by the way, I wouldn’t call what we’ve been dealing with _easy_. It’s just being around you that’s easy. Not the work it’s taking to...have the right to be around you the way I want to.”

Tim hummed. “I know I’m not...I can’t give you what you want right now. I’m sorry.”

Armie shook his head and scooted his chair closer, lowering his voice. “What I want is you, however I can have you. If it’s...this...right now, then I’ll take it. If this is all it ever is, then...I’ll be sad about that, and I’ll think it’s a damned shame, but I’ll take it. If you just need me to wait, then...give me a magazine or something, and I’ll settle in. No problem. I can be patient.”

The sound Tim made then was something like distress, and Armie had to grab one hand with the other in order to keep from reaching for him. But then Tim did something that surprised Armie.

He leaned forward and dropped his forehead onto Armie’s shoulder. He left it there a moment, and Armie waited, tense. He wanted to place his hand on the back of Tim’s head, run his fingers through Tim’s curls and scratch at his scalp, trail his palm down Tim’s back. Anything to touch and comfort. But he waited.

When Tim raised his head, his face was close -- too close -- to Armie’s. He huffed out a small laugh, the breath tickling Armie’s lips.

“You are...really hard to say no to,” said Tim.

“I’m not the only one who’s hard to say no to,” said Armie. They were in room full of people, half-eaten steaks growing cold on their plates, half-drunk wine waiting in their glasses, but as far as Armie was concerned, Tim could kiss him right there and he would not give one tiny shit for what anyone thought or whether it was appropriate or what else they were supposed to be doing. “I would kiss you if I could,” Armie whispered, voicing his thoughts. “All you have to do is ask.”

Tim’s gaze dropped to Armie’s lips, and for a second, Armie thought that maybe he was actually going to ask, or better yet, just do it.

But then Tim straightened up. He brushed his hair off of his forehead and settled his hand on the back of his neck, averting his gaze.

“Well, fuck,” said Tim. “I think I’d better find a way to be ready to talk sooner rather than later.”

Armie grinned. Progress. Real progress, he could feel it.

“You only have to ask for that, too,” he said. “After this, we’re hitting a comedy club. You and I could skip the show, wait for everyone else at the bar next door, and --”

Tim shook his head. “No,” he said. “No. Not tonight. I still need to...let’s just...we’re doing okay, right?”

Armie hesitated. “Yeah. We can be good.” He smirked. “Just drawing more lines. We’re great at lines.”

Tim’s lips parted on a small gasp, and Armie reveled in the way his pupils grew. He was no doubt thinking about exactly the lines Armie was referring to.

“Shut the fuck up.” He smacked Armie’s shoulder. “Jesus. This is also part of the problem. I can’t fucking think with you around.”

“I have the same problem,” said Armie. “But I rather enjoy it. The not thinking, I mean.”

“You would.” Tim scooted his chair a few inches away. “Stay over there,” he said, picking up his knife and fork again. “I mostly mean it.”

“Fine,” said Armie, turning back to his own plate. But he smirked a little when he felt Tim’s foot resting on top of his own. “So, we’ve established that you are fucking clueless about baseball. So let me ask you this. What’s your favorite book?”

Tim laughed.

At the comedy show, Tim deliberately put two people between their seats. Armie grumbled about it, loudly, until Tim threw up his hands and switched spots with the _Cor Cordium_ chef. As the show began, they kept to their own places, but after a while, Tim began to clutch at Armie’s sleeve whenever he doubled over laughing at a particularly hilarious bit. After the third time this happened, Tim left his hands on Armie’s sleeve, lightly stroking the corduroy and leaning his own shoulder against Armie’s.

Armie let him do whatever he wanted, being careful to keep his hands to himself. He wanted -- needed -- Tim to be the one to come to him, not the other way around. This time, it had to be all Tim, and he was determined to be as patient as possible.

The cigar lounge posed another challenge, as Armie could not seem to take his eyes off of the way Tim’s lips looked pursed around the end of a cigar.

“Jesus Christ, Armie, just take him home already.” Nick knocked into Armie with his shoulder, pulled Armie’s attention away from where Tim was engaged in conversation with one of Nick’s college friends.

“I’m not...we’re not together right now,” said Armie. The words pained him to say, but he realized it was true. They had been together, or at least in his mind they were, from Christmas Eve on. It hadn’t been official, because of Liz, but in his eyes it was a foregone conclusion. He had said as much to Tim the night before during dinner.

But now...now, he realized, they weren’t. They were something, definitely, but not together. No matter how much Tim flirted with him or touched him, he was still holding himself back. And until they were able to talk, until Tim was feeling more comfortable with the idea of them together, they were never going to get there.

What had been going on all night was just...play. It was Tim reassuring himself that Armie still wanted him, and wasn’t pushing him away. It wasn’t a promise for anything more.

He shook his head. “Sorry, man. I’ve been too focused on him all night. Your night. Are you having a good time?”

“I’m having a great time, and you’re fine. Don’t change the subject, you asshole. Tim’s been all over you all night, and you can’t stop looking at him. Why don’t you just haul him off, deal with whatever you need to deal with, and fuck already? We’re all getting hard just watching you two.”

Armie gaped at Nick. “Jesus. How drunk are you?”

Nick laughed. “Come on, I’m kidding. But not about you and Tim, that I’m dead serious about. The kid is mad about you. He’s just a little scared of the intensity of the whole thing, that’s all. He’ll get over it.”

Armie’s gaze sharpened. “You arrived with him. Why? Did he talk to you?”

“No. Yes. A little. I helped him pick out the sport coat. Shit, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

“Why?”

Nick shrugged. “I’m not sure. He asked me not to.”

Armie threw an arm around Nick, seeing his opportunity. “Dude, your loyalty lies with me. Me, your best friend and best man, who is throwing you this incredibly lavish bachelor party. Tell me what he said.”

“Nope,” said Nick. “These lips are sealed, and I cannot be bought. Please keep trying, though.” To emphasize the point, he stuck his cigar between his teeth and grinned.

“Fine,” said Armie. “By the way, nice job with the jacket.”

By the time the party made its way to the hotel suites, people had begun to peel off. Most of the pub employees and local friends said their goodbyes at the cigar lounge,  until only the out-of-towners, Nick, Armie, and Tim remained.

Armie had arrived earlier to drop off his things and check them all in. Now, it was late, but not later than it was when they closed the pub, and Nick and the rest of the guys seemed to want some more time -- and more drinks. Someone also complained of being hungry again.

Tim offered to run out to grab food, but Armie had other plans. It only took a quick call to room service, and the promise of a bonus for quick service, to fix the problems. Before long, the hospitality manager and two employees were laying out a spread of sandwiches and setting up bottles of champagne while Armie and the others looked on.

“That was...something,” said Tim, under his breath. Armie glanced at him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing’s the matter,” Tim said, with a shrug. “But I could have gotten sandwiches like that at a fifth of the price from the late-night food truck on Arlington.”

“This was easier,” said Armie. “No one has to stumble around in the middle of the night, these guys will get a nice bonus tip, and the hotel manager will be happy if I need to book rooms in the future. Wins all around.”

“I see it now,” said Tim, peering up at him with a soft smile.

“What do you see?”

“Just...you. Armie Hammer.”

Tim let this puzzling comment hang in the air and left to use the restroom. Armie tried to make sense of the conversation, but decided he was too fuzzy-headed to do it justice. He’d have to try again in the morning.

He grabbed a bottle of champagne and poured a round, then collapsed into the corner of an overstuffed sofa. “To Nick,” he said, for what he hoped would be the last time that evening.

Tim returned and, without hesitation, fell into the seat beside Armie. Armie had his arm draped along the back of the sofa, so when Tim sat, he automatically nestled into what Armie had begun to think of as  _Tim’s spot_ during their time living together, his shoulder tucked into Armie’s armpit and his arm pressed against Armie’s side.

_Don’t do it,_ Armie told himself. He repeated this several times, but ultimately, the combination of exhaustion and booze and nicotine and _Tim_ had lowered his defenses enough that he gave in. He turned his head to the right, lowered his chin an inch, and inhaled.

Immediately, he was overwhelmed. He let his eyes drift closed and inhaled again, allowing Tim to permeate his senses -- his scent, the warmth of his body, the faint tickle of a stray curl against Armie’s nose.

_This is a mistake_ , he thought. He kept thinking it as he slid his arm off the back of the sofa and rested his hand on Tim’s other shoulder, pulling him closer.

But Tim just sighed and melted against his side.

_Shit, shit, shit,_ thought Armie. He was never going to make it if they kept this up. He wasn’t. He was going to cave, to cross the line, to start begging. He had said he could be patient, but to be so close and not be able to take what he wanted might just kill him.

He had to move, to get out of there. He needed a minute to re-settle his nerves and his hormones and just rationally remind himself why he was supposed to keep his distance.

Armie withdrew his arm and stood, somewhat abruptly, if the sound Tim made could be used as an indication.

He tipped back his glass and finished his champagne. “Be right back,” he said, when the others stopped talking and looked at him. “Bathroom.”

Conversation started up again as he ventured through the connecting door and into the adjoining bedroom. He headed into the bathroom and flicked on the light.

It was funny; he didn’t _look_ like a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

He ran the water a moment and then splashed his face, trying to focus on the refreshing feeling and not on how the fuck he was going to deal with this for days or weeks or however long Tim needed to figure out how to move forward, when he could barely make it through a single night.

When he straightened up, patting his face dry with the hand towel, he looked in the mirror again and froze. Tim was there, leaning against the doorway, arms folded across his chest. He looked worried.

“What are you doing?” asked Armie. He braced his hands on the bathroom counter to have something solid to hang onto.

“Checking on you,” said Tim. “You left so suddenly, and you sounded...weird. Are you feeling okay?”

Armie couldn’t help the snort that escaped. No, he wasn’t _okay_ , but he also wasn’t planning on telling Tim that. He needed Tim to feel like Armie could respect his wishes. Because Armie could respect them. He just couldn’t let them continue to interact in this way while he waited.

“I’m fine,” he said, keeping his gaze on the mirror, thinking that maybe the fact that he wasn’t actually looking at Tim for real might dull some of the ache he was feeling. “The champagne might have been a bit much after the scotch and wine and cigars and more scotch.”

“You don’t seem drunk,” said Tim.

“Neither do you,” said Armie, peering at Tim over his shoulder. He had assumed that part of the problem here was that Tim was drinking, which was lowering his inhibitions and making him a little loose with the boundaries. But Tim’s eyes were clear.

“I’m not,” said Tim. “I had that scotch and a glass of wine at dinner, but I haven’t had anything else to drink. I thought maybe...I shouldn’t.”

Armie swallowed. “Yeah, well...you not being drunk hasn’t stopped you from being more...friendly...than I thought you were planning to be tonight. Lines, remember?”

Tim pushed himself off the doorjamb and walked towards Armie, smiling softly. “Yeah, well…” He walked behind Armie and to the other side, until he was leaning a hip against the counter. He reached out a hand and repeated the move he had done in the restaurant earlier, stroking Armie’s sleeve from shoulder to cuff. “Why did you have to wear something that makes it impossible to not touch you?” he whispered. His fingers landed on Armie’s wrist, just under the sleeve. Armie held onto the counter as tightly as possible.

“Don’t,” said Armie.

Tim froze, his hand still on Armie’s wrist. “Don’t?”

“Look, if you’re not ready to talk and work things out, you have to stop doing things like that.” Armie closed his eyes and shook his head. “I just…”

Tim pulled his hand away and took a step back. “I thought we were just enjoying the easy part without having to think about the hard stuff. I thought we were having fun. But if you want me to stop--”

“I _don’t_ want you to stop,” said Armie, his eyes flying open. He straightened and turned to face Tim fully, fastening him with a sharp gaze. “That’s the whole fucking point. I want you to push me into that bedroom, shove me up against the wall, and tear my shirt down the middle. But if you’re not going to do that, then you have to stop. Because I can’t...I can’t...you’re killing me, Tim. I can wait, I can, I swear, but you’re making it...I just…”

His hands came up to cover his face. _Fuck_ , he was doing exactly what he didn’t want to do, tell Tim that he might not make it if Tim made him sit in limbo for too long.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Tim. “I didn’t mean to...be a tease.”

Armie dropped his hands and shook his head. “No, I know. And I encouraged it because having you with me feels _so_...right to me. But now I’m saying, until you’re ready to tell me what I can do to fix this--” he waved a hand between them, “--for good, then we have to really just be friends. The not touching kind of friends.”

Tim was nodding and blinking rapidly. A hand wandered up to clutch at his throat, and his eyes darted around the room.

Armie felt like a shit, because he was pretty sure Tim was trying to hold back tears.

“No,” said Armie. “Oh, don’t...look, I’m a big boy. You just...do what feels right to you, and I’ll find a way to--”

Tim’s head snapped up, and Armie stopped, because he suddenly looked resolute, steely.

“Okay,” he said. “Then let’s talk.”

He skirted past Armie into the bedroom. Armie watched him go, his mouth going dry.

They were going to talk? Tim was going to let him apologize, explain what he had figured out, try to fix things? His heart leapt, and he smiled.

_Thank fuck._

He followed Tim and found him sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed.

“Is it okay if we talk here?” Tim asked. “I think maybe being in a neutral location would be...helpful. For me.”

“Of course,” said Armie. “This is actually my room for the night. Nick is staying in the main suite, and the other guys have rooms down the hall.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “So much for neutral.”

“We can go somewhere else, if you want,” said Armie. “A diner or something.”

“No, this is fine. I don’t really want to...now that I said it, I don’t want to wait.”

Armie felt a surge of hope again. If Tim was anxious to talk, maybe it was because he was anxious for things to go back to normal. That could only be a good thing.

“Let me just say goodnight,” he said, gesturing to the main room.

When he entered, the guys looked up from their conversation. A couple of them were smirking.

Armie crossed to Nick and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Nicky, I’m going to turn in. Haven’t had much sleep recently. You guys good here? If you need anything else, just call the front desk.”

“We’re great,” said Nick. He pushed himself to his feet -- somewhat unsteadily, as he hadn’t been careful about the alcohol he had been consuming -- and folded Armie into a bear hug. “Thanks so much for this, man. You rock.”

“Yeah, well...you’re worth it,” said Armie.

“Make sure you let him talk, too,” Nick whispered in Armie’s ear. “In fact, you don’t run this conversation at all. Let him do it.”

Armie squinted at Nick, trying to decide how to reply. After a moment, he just laughed. “Thank you. Remember to drink water.”

He made his way back into the bedroom, and as he closed the door, he thought he heard one of Nick’s friends say, “Finally.”

_Yes,_ thought Armie. _Finally, they were getting somewhere_.

Now, if only he could convince Tim that he was going to change, and stop throwing money and gifts at him without asking...he might have a shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to you all and, like I said, hang in there.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Here we are. Bear with me, these notes are long, just like this chapter (and it is a beast...buckle up).
> 
> First, as always, 100% fiction. I don't know these boys. I wish I did, but then I probably wouldn't want to write about them, so...bright side.
> 
> Second, to my beta reader, who is always watching: Thank you from the bottom of my heart. For listening to me when I started to obsess about CMBYN and these boys, and for jumping off the cliff along with me. For indulging my musings and writings for months. For encouraging me to pursue this story because you thought it was special. For being my biggest cheerleader. For letting me freak out at you every single day. Everything I have is yours.
> 
> Third, to this incredible community that has welcomed me with such open arms: I can't express how much it means to me that you've let me play on your playground, and that you've read and responded to what turned out to be a pretty important story to me, personally (more on that in a moment). Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'm not done yet. I have a lot more to say, if you care to listen.
> 
> Fourth, to those of you who have reached out privately...all my love and thanks for listening to me be insecure and ask questions and for giving me support. Seriously. You know who you are.
> 
> Fifth, as it turns out, this isn't just a fun little story about two fictional versions of people we adore. There's a fuck of a lot more truth in here than I really anticipated or intended, and this chapter in particular ended up hitting a part of my soul that I hadn't been willing to acknowledge before. I think I just gave myself a year's worth of therapy, so thanks for letting me do that and saving me thousands of dollars. I'm not sure where I'm headed from this, but...I'm a tiny bit different now, and I think that's a good thing.
> 
> Finally, please remember: this story is far from over. I appreciate your patience, your faith, and your trust. We'll get to the happy ending together.
> 
> Chapter Playlist:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6NRq0khjJ45FNZN1uvOyQc
> 
> 1\. Halo -- Beyonce  
> 2\. Came Here For Love (Acoustic) -- Sigala & Ella Eyre  
> 3\. Little Things -- One Direction  
> 4\. Barcelona -- George Ezra  
> 5\. Beneath Your Beautiful -- Labrinth  
> 6\. Can’t Help Faling in Love -- Elvis Presley  
> 7\. All of Me -- John Legend  
> 8\. Say You Won’t Let Go -- James Arthur  
> 9\. Paradise -- George Ezra  
> 10\. Elastic Heart -- Sia  
> 11\. Naked -- James Arthur  
> 12\. Just Breathe -- Pearl Jam  
> 13\. Perfect Symphony -- Ed Sheeran and Andrea Bocelli  
> 14\. The World is Going Up in Flames -- Charles Bradley

**Chapter 22**

Things always feel different at the end than they do at the beginning. Beginnings are full of promise, possibility, potential. Nothing has been decided, no paths have been chosen. It’s a little frightening, but always thrilling.

Endings are different. They have a sense of closure to them. You’re supposed to have learned something by the end, something that will have made the entire experience worth it, leave you feeling like you’re better for having made these choices and ridden the roller coaster of consequences.

Armie remembered the beginning of this, that day at _Cor Cordium_. He had been minding his own business, having a regular old day. And then Tim walked into his life and everything changed. Would he regret deciding to hire Tim that day, or any choice he had made since, if this really was the end? If Tim was about to walk back out of his life, leaving a gaping Tim-shaped hole that would never really heal?

No, he decided. Whatever happened, he was better for this. He was better for having gotten this time with Tim, even if it was all he ever got. It was more than he had deserved.

After closing the bedroom door, Armie turned to Tim, who was still perched on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, twisting his fingers together and gnawing on his bottom lip. For the millionth time, Armie had to resist the urge to sit beside him and wrap his arms around the kid, and absorb his tension somehow. After a moment’s hesitation, he decided a little distance was a good idea. He kicked off his shoes and crossed to the other side of the king-sized mattress, choosing to plant himself at the head of the bed, his back against the headboard and his feet drawn up. He draped his arms loosely over his knees.

They sat in silence for a full minute, the only sounds in the room the faint ticking from the clock on the wall and the occasional muted laughter from beyond the closed door. Armie waited, wanting to try to follow Nick’s — inebriated but nonetheless sound advice — and let Tim run the conversation. Eventually, Tim bent down and unlaced his boots, tossing them to the side, where they fell with two rapid thuds. He swung his legs onto the bed and folded himself into a cross-legged position, facing Armie. His hands fell to his calves, and he began to rub them up and down nervously. Then he raised his head.

“Okay,” he said. “First of all, this is...I haven’t figured anything out yet. I told you I needed time, and that’s still the case. But maybe if I talk to _you_ about what I’m thinking, and what I’m worried about, it’ll help.”

“I have some things to say, too,” said Armie, thinking about his realizations, his conversation with Liz, the baby situation, and his ideas about how to solve Tim’s problems with their financial imbalance. It all made him a little -- a lot -- nervous, but it was important. Then he remembered again what Nick had said. “But you go first,” said Armie. “Just don’t storm out or something without letting me have a chance to tell you what’s been going on with me since last night.”

Tim nodded. “I promise. Last night. Fuck, it feels like a year ago. Last night itself felt like a year.” He smiled a little. “I didn’t get much sleep.”

“Neither did I,” said Armie. “I didn’t know where the fuck you where, and that...Tim, you can’t just leave like that. Not with how things started with us. It’s too much for me to take, worrying about whether you’re safe, on top of...the rest of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim said. “Not for walking out, but for worrying you. I didn’t really think about that. Well. I thought about how you might react when you got home, but then I didn’t hear from you so I figured you were just mad at me.”

“I wasn’t mad at you. At _all_. I didn’t text you right away because I didn’t know you weren’t home. By the time I got there, I assumed you would be either asleep or waiting to yell at me some more. But you weren’t there, and then you didn’t respond to my texts…” Armie rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit, I kept picturing you out somewhere and...just please don’t do that again.”

“Why did it take you so long to get home?”

“I didn’t leave the restaurant right away,” said Armie. “I was trying to give you space like you asked. So I stayed and annoyed the waiter and drank a bunch of scotch. Too much, as it turned out.”

Tim’s mouth quirked up in a rueful smile. “Is that why you looked a little...peaked...at the realtor meeting today?”

“You should have seen me at breakfast. Apparently I looked so bad even _Liz_ expressed concern.”

The mention of Liz seemed to catch Tim’s attention, his gaze focusing a bit more and his shoulders straightening. Armie waited for him to ask about the meeting with her, but he didn’t.

Instead, he asked, “You really drank that much? Why?”

Armie gave Tim a look. “I don’t know, Tim. Maybe because I was celebrating the birthday of the most important person to me in the world, managed to fuck up and hurt him really badly, and then he ran off and told me not to follow him?”

Tim blinked. “The most…” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t think about...I was mad, and it was too much all of a sudden. I probably shouldn’t have run off. I’m not very good at...relationships.”

“Yeah, and clearly I’m a pro,” said Armie dryly. “Look, you needed some space and you took it. There’s nothing wrong with that. Just...next time please just go home. Or at least let me know where you are.”

“Okay. That’s...reasonable.”

“Where did you stay last night, anyway?” asked Armie. “Please tell me you weren’t lying when you said you were somewhere safe.”

“I wasn’t lying,” said Tim, shaking his head. “I was at Luca’s.”

Luca’s. That made sense, and Armie felt some of the tension leave his body. It was good to know Tim had an alternative, if he needed it.

“Have you stayed with him before?” asked Armie.

“A couple of times,” said Tim. “For a few nights in May, right after...at the end of the semester. And again for a couple of nights in September. He always offered, but I didn’t want to be a burden.”

No wonder Luca had seemed worried about Tim when Armie had asked for info, right before Armie had taken him in. He had put off Luca’s attempts to help as well. Armie decided that now was not the time for a lecture on accepting help.

“Well, I’m glad you have Luca, then,” said Armie. “And based on how he treated you on Christmas, I’m guessing he doesn’t see you as a burden any more than I do.”

Tim tapped his fingers on his knees for a minute, and then said, “I want you to take the tuition money back.”

“Done,” said Armie. “Well, not _done_ , but it will be on Monday. I promise. I really am sorry. I know I said I didn’t understand last night, but...I think I do now. So no more grand expensive gestures, okay? I won’t do things like that without talking to you.”

“Okay,” said Tim.

Armie waited a beat, and then asked, “That’s it? Okay?”

Tim shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I believe that you’ll take the money back. I believe you mean it about not making these kinds of decisions for me.”

“But…” Armie noted Tim’s reluctance to meet his gaze, his closed-in posture. “It’s not really okay, because you’re still feeling bad about this.”

Tim shrugged. “I believe you’re sorry, and that you think you get it. I just…”

“You don’t trust me.” Armie leaned his head back against the headboard. “Makes sense. I’ve only done the same stupid thing fifty times in the last few weeks even though you kept getting mad and telling me what I was doing wrong.”

“Hey,” said Tim. He finally focused his gaze on Armie, then reached out and laid his hand on Armie’s foot. “I _trust_ you. I mean, I trust that you’ll try. I can’t really ask for more than that, can I? And I kind of...get you a little better right now than I did before, so maybe I understand why you kept doing it.”

Armie lifted his head, curious. “Oh, yeah? Enlighten me?”

“You have money, and you’re used to using it. You use it to solve problems. You did it tonight, with the room service, and that’s just one example. So, you see I have a problem that you think can be solved with money, and you just...take action without considering any other factors.”

As he spoke, he shifted a little closer, and began to absentmindedly stroke the top of Armie’s foot with his thumb. A short while ago this would have driven Armie crazy. At the moment, it served as a link to Tim that seemed to calm them both. Tim was still seeking contact. That had to mean he _wanted_ to make this work, no matter what his reservations were.

Armie thought over Tim’s assessment of his character. The kid wasn’t wrong, he realized. He _did_ use money to solve problems. It was just natural to him. In that way, he wasn’t that different from his father. And wasn’t that realization a kick in the pants.

“Okay, I’ll accept that,” said Armie. “That’s fair. But money _can_ solve problems. It’s not inherently an evil thing. And you not being able to go to school is a problem that can be solved with money. I have the money. So...while I get that I shouldn’t have done something that involves your life without asking, it’s incredibly frustrating for me to not be allowed to solve this problem, when I have both the will and the way. Does that make sense?”

“Sure,” said Tim. “But...don’t take this the wrong way, okay? This isn’t your problem to solve, so it’s not really _about_ you. Your frustration is your issue, and I don’t have to factor it in when making my decisions, especially when you giving me this money causes other problems that I think are worse than me not being able to go to school temporarily.”

Armie tamped down a wave of annoyance, not at Tim, but at his own seeming inability to make it clear exactly why he thought that his frustration was valid, and why he didn’t understand the other problems the money created, not entirely. He selected his next words carefully.

“You definitely don’t have to factor in my feelings,” he said. “And when you’re making choices about your life, you should absolutely be focused on what’s right for you. However...Tim, if we’re going to be together — which you know I want, and I hope you want — we’re a team. That means your problems _are_ my problems, and we should solve them together. Especially if they aren’t...external. You’re saying that me giving you the money causes worse problems than not being able to go to school? Fine. Then those are internal problems that have to do with us, and that makes it all the more important that we _both_ be involved in solving them. Which means you have to communicate with me.”

Tim slid a few inches closer. His right knee now settled against Armie’s right ankle.

“That sounds amazing,” said Tim. “But we aren’t there yet, are we? And we definitely weren’t there last night. I know you said you felt...strongly, but things are still in limbo. More than that, though...I can’t...I don’t know how it’s so easy for you to just make these declarations and assume that’s that. You don’t _know_ what’s going to happen in the future. We’ve known each other less than three months. I moved in with you a couple of weeks ago. You kissed me eight days ago. Eight fucking _days_. Those eight days have been amazing, but the fact is, you don’t know how you’ll feel in six months or a year. You can’t just say we’re a team like it’s a forgone conclusion, because you can’t promise me that.”

“I can,” said Armie. “Tim, I can't tell the future, but I can promise you without a doubt that what I feel about this is real. You’ve talked a bunch of times now about some future in which I won’t want you. It’s not going to fucking _happen_. I don’t give a fuck if it’s been eight days or eight weeks or eight centuries. I don’t care if you pursue performance or decide to be a dentist or a toll collector or a mime at Quincy Market. I could care less if it turns out you leave your socks on the kitchen counter or scatter crumbs on the sofa or decide you’re really into electronica all of a sudden. Those are details. You’re the big picture, and about you, I’m sure.”

He had been trying not to make any physical advances, but Tim had put himself in reaching distance and was looking at him with such wide eyes that Armie went for it. He reached out a hand and smoothed a curl away from Tim’s forehead, and then he let his hand drop to rest on Tim’s ankle.

Tim stared at him a moment, and then frowned. He looked away.

“I’m...not.” he said quietly.

It took Armie a couple of seconds to hang Tim’s words onto some context. When he did, his stomach dropped, and he felt cold.

“You’re not. Not sure?” asked Armie. “About me?”

Fuck. He wondered if Tim had been feeling this way all along, or if the previous night’s gift had triggered this uncertainty. He scanned the past week, the past couple of months, in his mind. He couldn’t be wrong about this, he just _couldn’t_. Tim was right for him.

“No, I’m sure I want to be with you,” said Tim quickly, raising his eyes to Armie once more. “I’m sure about you. I’m just not sure that it will last.”

“Is it because of the tuition? The other gifts?” Armie struggled to get the words out. “I can return the Christmas gifts too, I was going to ask you about that. And I can’t...I’m asking for another chance to _show_ you that I won’t do that anymore.”

“No, it’s not…it’s not because of that. Or not _only_ because of that,” said Tim. “It’s not really anything you’re doing or not doing. It’s just...because of the way things are. The way I am.”

“But if you want this...why not have it? If you’re saying that you don’t want to start this because it might end, well...Tim, you’re never going to know one hundred percent whether a relationship will last when it begins. That’s not how this works. Not being sure something will last is not a reason to not try.” Armie leaned forward. “Because it _might_. And I can tell you for sure that I’m going to give it everything I have.”

“I believe you,” said Tim. “And so, when I let you down, that will make it so much worse, because you’ll have invested so much time — and money, if I were to let you — into me.”

“Tim.” Armie shook his head, exasperated. “How are you going to let me down? No, don’t answer that.” He sIghed. “You seem so...certain that you’re not going to be enough, here, and me telling you that’s ridiculous isn’t helping. It makes me think that there are things you’re not telling me. If you don’t tell me, we’re going to keep going in circles here. If you do...then maybe I can actually _help_.”

Tim didn’t respond, just dropped his eyes to his lap. Armie decided to take another risk. He scooted forward, away from the headboard, and swiveled until he was bracketing Tim with his long legs. He tucked a finger under Tim’s chin and lifted until he could see Tim’s eyes again. They were anxious, and afraid.

Slowly, Armie leaned in. He paused every couple of inches, giving Tim a chance to withdraw. When Tim didn’t, Armie finally closed the distance and wrapped his arms around Tim, pulling him close. Tim relaxed in his arms, and he felt some of the knots inside him loosen. Even if Tim’s brain was working overtime to throw up roadblocks, his body recognized Armie as representing safety and security.

“What are you so afraid of?” he whispered. “Please, Tim. Tell me what’s got you so twisted up.”

Tim didn’t answer right away, just let himself be held by Armie for long minutes. After a while, he pushed himself away, scooting backwards and rolling off the bed.

“Wait,” said Armie. “Don’t—“

“I want to talk to you,” said Tim. He tugged at his curls in frustration. “I’m not explaining this well. I don’t know how to explain this. This is why I said I wasn’t ready to talk yet, and now I’m just upsetting you and screwing it up even more, because you think I don’t _want_ you, and I do, I’m just...” he looked around the room, his eyes settling on the clock. “It’s late,” he said, taking a step towards the door. “Maybe we should continue this—“

“No,” said Armie. “Don’t go. Look, you don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to tell me. But you _promised_. You promised not to run off before I had a chance to talk, too. To tell you about my day. Right?”

Tim hesitated. “Right,” he said. To Armie’s intense relief, he approached the bed again. Armie moved back over, this time stretching out on his side with his head resting on his palm. Tim climbed back onto the bed, sticking as far to the other side as possible, mirroring Armie’s pose.

“Do you want me to talk?” asked Armie, hoping the answer was yes.

“I think,” said Tim, biting at his lip, “that if I explain a little more about how I got into the situation I was in, you might understand me a little more. Why I’m not sure being together is...the right thing to do.”

Once again, Armie’s stomach bottomed out, and his heart picked up its pace. Tim clearly wanted to be with him. But to hear him say it might not be the right thing was enough to knock him breathless. He had really thought he had a chance, and he still did, but it didn’t change the fact that Tim was slowly killing him, tiny cut by tiny cut.

Tim took in the look on Armie’s face, and his own face crumpled slightly. He reached out and placed a hand on Armie’s chest. “Right now,” he said, his gaze steady and his palm firm. “I always mean, when I say us being together might not be the right thing, I always mean it might not be the right thing _right now_. I don’t mean ever. Okay? I...need you to understand that. If I say no, it’s not _no_. It’s just _not yet_.”

Armie placed his own hand over Tim’s and squeezed slightly. Then he picked Tim’s hand up and turned it over, placing a kiss on his palm. He felt degrees better, his heart beginning to slow.

“Okay. I’m listening,” said Armie. “Talk to me about what happened.”

Tim pulled his arm back and flopped onto his back. Then he glanced back at Armie.

“Can we turn out the lights? It might...this is stupid, but I haven’t really talked about most of this out loud and I—-“

But Armie was already up and moving around the room, flicking switches and sending them into darkness. He got it. Tim needed the shadows in order to feel less exposed. He could give him that layer of security, even if it meant that he couldn’t properly see Tim.

He returned to his position on the bed, curling on his side and facing Tim. Tim remained on his back, and Armie could just barely make out his profile from the light coming in through the edges of the curtains.

There was silence for a while. Armie waited patiently, knowing that it was especially important here that he let Tim take the wheel.

“His name is Daniel.” Tim’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke, a hushed murmur that floated across the space between them.

Armie held his breath. He wanted to answer, to let Tim know he had heard, but instead, he waited.

The clock ticked steadily. Every so often, a whir of traffic from the street below could be heard.

Finally, Tim went on. “I met him at school. He’s a drummer. A really good one. We were matched for a performance project and...hit it off.” He sighed. “We started dating in January. Before that, we had been casual for a few months, but after we returned from the holiday break, he wanted more, and I did too.”

Armie waited again, and Tim cleared his throat.

“We went to Cancun for Spring Break. With a bunch of friends. Someone posted a photo of Daniel and me...kissing. It got back to my parents. They were —“ he let out a bitter laugh. “—to say they were disappointed would be generous.”

He stopped, and was quiet for so long Armie finally spoke up. “What did they do?” he asked.

“They cornered me when I was home for my dad’s birthday, the last weekend in April. After a lot of yelling, I was given a choice: break up with Daniel and stop playing around at being gay, or get disowned.”

It was killing Armie that he couldn’t reach out to Tim. His voice was thin and fragile, as if it could snap with the slightest additional stress. He wanted to gather Tim in his arms and shield him from everything negative in the world.

Somehow, he managed to keep perfectly still, saying only, “I’m so sorry, Tim.”

There was a rustle. Armie realized Tim must have shrugged.

“Me too. But it is what it is. I wasn’t going to break up with Daniel, and I definitely wasn’t going to stop being gay, so...I walked out. I went back to school, took my final exams, and then got the notification that summer tuition payment had been cancelled.” Tim blew out a breath. “I know they had made the threats, but...I never expected them to follow through. And I really didn’t expect that when I tried to call and straighten things out, that they’d ignore my calls.”

Tim shifted, rolling onto his side so he was facing Armie. There was still space between them, but at least he could see Tim’s eyes now, gleaming in the traces of moonlight.

“I thought we were...we were so close. My parents and I, I mean. Especially my mom. I figured _she_ would at least talk to me. But they just—“

He broke off, rubbed his face on the pillow. After a minute, during which Armie clenched and unclenched his fists, Tim continued.

“When the dorms closed, I stayed with Luca for a few days. He understood what I was going through, and he was...I’m really grateful to have gotten to know him. He encouraged me to give my parents some space, and try again once tempers had dulled. He also encouraged me to stand my ground, to find a way to stay in Boston, to not run home and give in. I’m grateful for that, too...but I think he feels a little guilty about it, considering what ended up happening.

“Daniel wasn’t doing a summer term, but he and some of our friends had sublet an apartment for the summer. He asked me to move in, said I could pay whatever rent I could afford and not worry about the rest, since he had already budgeted his full share. It was good for a while. But…”

He trailed off, closed his eyes. Armie’s heart twisted. Whatever Tim was about to say was still fresh and raw, even months later. Once again, he forced himself not to reach for the kid.

“One day, I came back from busking late at night, and Daniel had another guy in our bed. I confronted him, and he laughed. He admitted he had been cheating on me practically the entire time we were together. He said...he said that now it didn’t matter. That I had nowhere to go, so he could do what he wanted and I wouldn’t leave him, because I couldn’t. That I should just be grateful he let me stay.”

“Fuck that,” said Armie. He spat it out, feeling a surge of anger, unable to stay quiet. “Seriously, fuck that.”

Tim laughed. “Yeah. Well, he wasn’t wrong. I had nowhere to go. I spent a few days sleeping on the couch, and Daniel convinced me to come back, to take what he was offering...not exclusivity, but something. Comfort, he called it. I don’t...I still can’t believe I gave in to him, and let him tell me when I could stay in his bed and when I had to sleep on the couch because he had someone else around. I think I was in shock or something, but I was also...I didn’t know what else to do. It...makes me sick to think about it. It was only a few weeks, but it...” He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion.

The vivid picture of how Armie would be punching this Daniel in the fucking face and balls repeatedly if he ever came across him was clear as day. He could practically see red at the edges of his vision.

“Then it was the end of the summer, and he was moving back on campus. Initially, before all that happened, we had talked about how I could probably stay with him until someone reported us, which might never happen. But it was my chance to wake up and realize that there was no fucking way I could stay with him, no matter what my situation was. Anyway, that was...that’s when I started moving around.”

“Tim,” Armie sighed. “I’m so sorry. He’s a first-rate asshole, and deserves to be drawn and quartered. That kind of person...he’s just a total dick. That’s on him. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Yes,” said Tim. “And I had no idea he was like that before it happened. The thing is, because I had him, I wasted the entire summer. I didn’t get another job, I didn’t busk as much as I could have, I turned down an opportunity to sing with a band...a bunch of things that could have helped me come the fall. I assumed things would continue, and I let myself be lulled into security. So when it was yanked away...”

“I understand how that would make you...how it would make it difficult to trust,” said Armie. “But I’m not Daniel. I would never--”

“I know,” said Tim. “I do. I don’t think you’d be like him. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t end up in the same place, once things ended in whatever way they did. If I’m dependent on you, and we break up...I won’t be able to be independent. It’s why I was so upset about that fucking tuition. If I accepted that, I would be completely dependent on you for a _year_ , maybe longer. Even if I know you wouldn’t, you _could_ pull it at any time. I can’t...I have to be in more control than that.”

Armie shifted forward, moving an inch closer to Tim.

“How much of this is about you being afraid of being stranded if we broke up, and how much of it is about feeling like...I don’t know. Like you wouldn’t have equal power, or control?”

“I’m not...I don’t think you’d deliberately strand me. But if something happened, and I haven’t had an opportunity to establish my own foundation, then...I’ll be screwed. Do you see the difference?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Armie.

“And if we start by you just _giving_ me a lot of things, then I’ll have to dig my way out before I even have a hope of being self-sufficient.”

Armie frowned, and turned it all over in his head. Telling Tim he truly didn’t need to be paid back wasn’t going to help.

They were silent for a while. Tim closed his eyes. The clock continued to tick.

After a few minutes, Armie spoke. The words tumbled out before he could consider whether it was a good idea to utter them. These are the things he had been thinking about, possible solutions to this very problem, where Tim would be afraid of being stranded one day. After their discussion about Armie using money to solve problems, he was guessing they might not be the welcome suggestions, but he had to make them.

“Would it help if...I could set something aside. For you. Just in case you decided to leave.” Armie swallowed back bile. They hadn’t even gotten anywhere yet, and he was talking about the end of them. It made him feel sick, but he had to keep going. “Like a rainy day fund. That way, even if you haven’t had a chance to lay your own foundation you’ll have time to do it.”

Tim’s eyes flew open, and he gaped at Armie. “Please don’t tell me you just...offered to throw your trust fund at me like a bribe.”

It was Armie’s turn to gape. “How do you know about my trust fund?” he asked. “What do you…how long have you known?”

“Not long,” said Tim. “You seem to have forgotten to mention some important details about yourself. I get it, though...you didn’t want me to know that the real reason you don’t mind throwing money at me is that it doesn’t really mean that much to you.” He sounded sad rather than bitter, but Armie knew he had to straighten this out immediately.

“Wrong,” he said. “I have a trust fund. It’s large. It’s why I could afford to build _Cor Cordium_ , why I can afford the expansion and the condo. It’s why I can _afford_ your tuition or anything else you need. It means that you don’t have to worry about being a burden because it’s truly not. But...Tim, it’s not _meaningless_. I wouldn’t offer this to anyone. Just to you.”

“I...okay, I know that. But you can’t just offer me money to stick around. That’s...well, that’s almost _exactly_ what Daniel did.”

_Fuck._ “No, it’s not, and that isn’t what I’m doing,” said Armie. He sighed. “But I can understand how it might feel that way.”

There was another stretch of silence, and then Tim said, “That’s why I’m so...unsure about starting this right now. It’s a lot of stress and obligation to put on the beginnings of a relationship, with you supporting me. It feels...not right.”

“So...what? You want to just hold off until you start paying rent? Until you save up some amount of money? How long will that be?” asked Armie. “If that’s the condition, I can live with that.”

“Can you?” asked Tim. “We couldn’t even make it one night without driving each other crazy. How are we supposed to live together and not... _be_ together?”

“I don’t know,” said Armie. “Look, before...when I said you had to stop what you were doing? It wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about me having trouble controlling myself in that area. It was more that it was painful to not be able to treat you the way I wanted to be treating you. To have my arm around you, like in the living room earlier. To take your hand as we’re walking down the street. It’s not about the sex, it’s about...the intimacy. And so I don’t have any fucking idea how we’re supposed to live together and work together and not _be_ together. But if that’s what it takes, we can find a way.”

“You think?” asked Tim.

“A few days ago, we were ready to do just that, and I bet we could, if we had to. But...I’m still not convinced we _have_ to.”

“Armie--”

“No, listen. I’m hearing you say that you’re afraid of a couple of things. One seems to be that you might not be what I really want once I get to know you better. I promise that’s a load of crap, but the only way I can fix that is to show you, and I can’t do that without a chance. The second, bigger problem, is that you’re afraid to be dependent on me, because it makes you feel out of control and puts a sheen on our relationship that makes you really uncomfortable. Like, even if you know it’s not true, it will feel like what went on with Daniel, that he was just using you because he could, and you were powerless to stop it. Is that close?”

Tim swallowed audibly. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I guess it is.”

“Then...how about this?” Armie took a breath. This was the other idea he had come up with, and he wasn’t sure how it would sound out loud, but he had to try. “You don’t like the idea of me setting up an emergency fund for you, because it feels like a bribe. It’s not. It’s my way of trying to let you feel like you do have control over the situation. That you _can_ leave if you want, and not suffer for trying this. But that’s not the only way to accomplish that.”

“It’s not?”

Armie licked his lips and took a breath. “We could get married. And then, if you changed your mind at some point, and decided that you--” Armie choked a little on the next part, “--you didn’t want to continue this, you’d have a legal right to support. It would be totally in your control, then. Whether to stay or go and what you needed to take with you.”

Tim pushed himself into a seated position and looked down at Armie. Even in the mostly-dark room, Armie could tell he wasn’t smiling.

“What the _fuck_ did you just suggest?” asked Tim. “Did you actually just say we should get married so that I...have a _legal right_ to your money?”

“Is that...wrong?” asked Armie. _Shit, shit, shit._ He knew he shouldn’t have opened his stupid mouth.

“Is that wrong,” Tim muttered. “Armie, Jesus Christ, I _just_ told you that bribing me with money is that last fucking thing that’s going to fix this, and you...you...you--”

“Okay, forget I said it. Fuck.” Armie sat up as well, but kept his distance. “I didn’t realize the idea of being married to me was so ridiculous.”

“It’s not the _idea_ of being married to you, you asshole. It’s treating marriage like some kind of...contract. It’s the _same fucking thing_ as the ‘emergency fund’ issue.” Tim reached out and pushed Armie’s shoulder, and then did it again, harder.

“Hey,” said Armie. “Come on, cut it out.”

Tim grabbed both of Armie’s shoulders and pushed him again, harder, until he toppled onto his back. Tim continued to mutter under his breath, moving closer until he was hovering over Armie, his hands still pushing Armie’s shoulders into the mattress. “‘We could get married,’ he says, like he’s suggesting we go get some donuts for breakfast. Armand fucking Hammer, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Tim--”

He was cut off as Tim’s mouth descended on his with brutal force. Armie let Tim have the control of the kiss, and Tim took it, licking inside Armie’s mouth and biting at his lips in a possessive claiming.

_Thank god,_ thought Armie. If Tim could kiss him like this, there was still hope.

After a while, Tim pulled away and flopped on his back again, this time with his left side pressed up against Armie’s right.

“You’re such a fucking piece of work,” said Tim. “You’re going to drive me insane. Next time you propose, make sure you don’t make it into a fucking business venture.”

_Next time you propose…_ Armie wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and he didn’t want Tim to move away because he put his foot in his mouth again, so he just laid there, trying to let his flip-flopping stomach settle.

Something else Tim had said pinged in his brain. _You’re a piece of work_. Liz had said the same thing to him just yesterday. It made him remember that he wanted to make sure Tim knew how that had resolved itself.

“I broke up with Liz,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking into the silence.

Tim’s eyes opened, and he twisted his head to the side to look at Armie. “You did?”

“This morning. For real.”

Tim blinked a few times. “How are you going to work things out with the baby?” he asked.

Armie swallowed. “There is no baby.”

Tim’s mouth popped open, and his eyes immediately crinkled in concern.

“What happened?” he asked. “Did she...is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” said Armie. “She was never pregnant. She made the whole thing up.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” said Tim.

“That’s about right. But...I had already ended it when she told me she had lied.” Armie wasn’t sure why he felt that it was important Tim knew that.

“That’s...nuts,” said Tim, shock evident in his voice. “So she just thought if she made up a baby you’d stay with her?”

“I guess,” said Armie. “She said she was trying to buy herself time.”

“Armie...I’m sorry,” said Tim. “That there’s no baby. I know you said that you weren’t sure if it would happen, and that it was stressful, but I know that part of you was excited.”

Armie licked his lips. Tim was right. He had felt betrayed by Liz when she told him she had lied, but he also felt a sense of loss. It washed over him again now, and he hated it, because it didn’t matter, not really. It wasn’t the thing he wanted to be focused on.

“You do want kids someday, right?” asked Tim. He shifted onto his side, facing Armie once more, and Armie mirrored his move. Unlike before, now they were only inches apart. Armie liked this much better.

“Yeah,” he said, in answer to Tim’s question. “I’m not sure I’m ready now, but definitely someday. What about you?”

“Sure,” said Tim. “I’ve always pictured myself running around in a big backyard with a handful of rugrats in tow.”

Armie smiled at the image. “Yeah, they’d have you wrapped around their little finger. What else do you picture, when you think about that?”

“I...imagine having a partner who will get aggravated when I come inside with more grass stains than the kids.”

Armie chuckled. “And who would make sure you put on bug spray in the summer so you don’t get bitten by mosquitos.”

“And who won’t hesitate to drop the kids at a friend’s house and run away with me for a spontaneous weekend.”

“A spontaneous adult weekend?” teased Armie.

“Of course.”

Armie paused, and then, quietly, said, “We could have that, Tim.”

“I know we could,” said Tim. “That’s what makes this so important. I don’t want to start this until I’m sure it has the best chance of succeeding. Because if it doesn’t…”

“It’ll kill you,” whispered Armie.

“You too,” said Tim.

“Then what do we do?” he asked. “Because...it’s killing me right now. To have you here, and hear you say these things, and not know if you’re about to turn around and walk out that door and out of my life.”

“I’m not,” said Tim.

“No?”

“Not tonight.”

Armie squeezed his eyes shut. He supposed he should be thankful that he even got this much. Not everyone did. But he couldn’t help the searing ache that began in his stomach and wrapped itself all the way up his chest and around his throat.

“Armie...I meant it before. I won’t say no. I may say not yet, but I’m not going to say no. I couldn’t.”

Armie nodded, but kept his eyes closed. He could feel the heat behind them, and knew if he opened they might spill over. “I heard you,” he whispered.

Tim made a small noise, and suddenly his lips were on Armie’s again. He pushed Armie until he was on his back again, and crawled on top, straddling Armie’s hips, kissing him almost desperately. Armie hesitated, but then kissed him back. His arms came up to close around Tim’s back, pulling him as close as possible, until they were pressed together from chest to hips.

The low moan came from Tim first, but Armie wasn’t far behind. Tim left Armie’s mouth behind and trailed his lips along Armie’s jaw, settling at the junction of his neck and shoulder, sucking and biting delicately. Armie tilted his head to the side to give Tim better access.

He didn’t want to say anything, but felt that if he didn’t...soon he wouldn’t be able to.

“Tim. Timmy. What are you doing?” he asked.

Tim lifted his head slightly, moved his mouth to Armie’s ear. “Crossing all the lines,” he said. “I need you to know.”

“You need me to know what?” asked Armie, shivering at the sensation of Tim’s breath in his ear.

“I need you to know how I feel. Since I can’t figure out how to fucking say it the way you can.”

Tim returned his mouth to Armie’s and punctuated the kiss with a slow roll of his hips.

_Fucking hell,_ thought Armie. When Tim pulled his mouth away again, Armie gasped. “Are you sure?”

“About this? _Yes_ ,” said Tim. “Yes, I’m sure. I told you, I’m sure about _you_.”

He rolled his hips again, and Armie thrust up to meet him. _Oh, god_ , this was going to be…

“You don’t have to,” said Armie.

Tim bit at Armie’s jaw. “I know I don’t have to,” he mumbled. “Can we just...forget about all the shit for a while, all of my issues, and...unless you don’t want--”

In answer, Armie grabbed hold of Tim’s hair and pulled him down for another kiss. His other hand skimmed down Tim’s back and grabbed one ass cheek, squeezing.

“Shit,” murmured Tim, against Armie’s mouth.

He pushed himself up into a seated position, rocking his hips again. Armie reached up and slipped his hands under the hem of Tim’s shirt, both of them gasping as his fingers came into contact with Tim’s warm skin.

Tim began to run his hands up and down the lapels of Armie’s jacket, his shoulders, his arms.

“This jacket,” whispered Tim. “God, the second I saw you tonight -- all night -- I can’t seem to keep my hands off of it."

“You can have it,” said Armie. “Take it.”

“It’s not the jacket itself,” said Tim. “It’s the jacket with _you_ underneath.” He squeezed Armie’s biceps. “I love your arms,” he said. “The way they feel around me, the way they look when you’re working.”

Armie was having trouble breathing. As Tim talked, he continued to rock his hips, and Armie’s dick was getting harder and harder by the second. He could feel the dampness beginning to spread inside his pants. But he just bit the inside of his cheek, the sharp pain a momentary distraction, and let Tim continue.

Tim leaned down then, the new angle pulling a strangled cry from them both. Tim brushed his cheek back and forth along the lapel. “It’s so soft,” he said. “How is it so soft? And warm.”

“Shit, Tim…” Armie moved his hands from Tim’s stomach to his back, still reveling in the feel of Tim’s soft skin. “Please…”

Tim hummed against Armie’s chest. “It’s a shame to take it off,” he said. “But…” he moved his head until his nose was nestled in the vee of Armie’s t-shirt, where small tufts of hair were exposed. “But this is calling my name.”

He sat back and pushed the jacket off of Armie’s shoulders. Armie sat up suddenly, gripping Tim’s ass and repositioning him so he didn’t go flying backwards, but rather ended up on his knees, straddling Armie’s lap. Tim let out a laugh at the sudden change in position, and kissed Armie hard.

Then he was wrestling Armie out of the jacket. When it was free, Armie tossed it off the bed -- thinking briefly that he should send the designer a gift basket -- and returned the favor by yanking Tim out of his own jacket.

Their shirts followed, and Armie nearly cried when Tim put his talented mouth to work on Armie’s chest. He kneaded Tim’s ass, and Tim set up a rocking rhythm that was going to end things far too quickly if they weren’t careful.

Tim seemed to sense Armie’s growing desperation, because he pulled off of Armie’s left nipple with a pop and shifted backwards, moving around until he was kneeling between Armie’s legs instead of straddling his waist. Armie’s breath caught in his throat when he lowered his head again and began to lick his way around Armie’s stomach.

“Fuck...Tim…” He couldn’t control the way his abdomen twitched away from and then toward Tim’s mouth, and Tim hummed again. Armie was going to start recording that sound. Tim reached the waistband of Armie’s trousers and then, suddenly, settled his open mouth on Armie’s cock. Armie could feel the warmth of his breath through the layers of cloth and groaned.

“Hang in there,” said Tim softly. “Let me…”

Then his fingers were undoing the fly and yanking at the fabric lining Armie’s hips. He lifted up and, more quickly than he would have thought possibly, Tim wrestled everything off so that Armie was lying naked, completely exposed, before Tim.

Armie let out an explosion of breath, but before he could ground himself, Tim’s mouth closed around him, his tongue teasing the head of his cock, dipping in and out of his slit.

“Fuck,” he cried out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

He lost track of time in that moment. All he knew was sensation. The slick glide of Tim’s tongue, lips, and cheek along his shaft, the tickling vibrations as Tim continue to hum, the harsh way his breath burned as he pushed it in and out of his lungs with increasing difficulty, the growing tightness in his balls.

“Tim. Timmy, you have to stop, you have to--”

Tim seemed to hear him, because he pulled off and climbed back up Armie’s body, claiming his mouth again. Armie clasped the back of Tim’s neck and pulled him in, tasting his own pre-come on Tim’s tongue and groaning.

He felt Tim shifting above him, heard the snick of a zipper, and then--

Tim. All of Tim, from perfect head to adorable toe, vast expanses of skin, pressed up against him.

He felt lightheaded. He ran his hands up and down Tim’s body as Tim continued to explore his mouth, squeezing and grazing anything within reach. After long minutes of this, his hand found its way to Tim’s crease, and he slid a finger down, until he was just brushing Tim’s opening.

Tim made a whimpering noise and stilled.

Armie started to draw his hand back, but Tim shifted his hips, spread his legs, and arched his back until he found Armie’s finger again. He pressed upwards. Armie got the signal and began to play with the edges of Tim’s opening, applying light pressure and then firmer, as Tim started to fall apart above him, moaning freely, his mouth going slack.

“Tim,” Armie managed, his voice raw, “do you want...can I…”

In answer, Tim grabbed Armie’s shoulder and pulled, using surprising strength to roll them over so that their positions were reversed. He spread his legs wider, canted his hips up.

“Please,” whispered Tim raggedly. “Touch me.”

“Yes, sir,” breathed Armie.

But he didn’t immediately go for the prize, now that he was in the control position. Instead, he decided to take his time, slow things down, even as Tim whined in protest. He spent a while on Tim’s left shoulder, remembering the first mark he had left on Tim’s body. He ran his nose along Tim’s collarbone and down his sternum, and made real the attentions to Tim’s nipples that he had described on Christmas night. He placed a row of kisses around Tim’s navel, all the while blanketing Tim’s sides with the spread of his hands, loving the way Tim’s ribs felt moving desperately around on the mattress.

“God,” muttered Tim. “Jesus Christ, Armie, _please,_ ”

Armie took that as his cue and sucked Tim’s cock down in one go, gagging slightly at the fast intrusion in the back of his throat. Tim yelled, and then he must have grabbed a pillow, because he continued to make desperate noises, now muffled.

He set up a steady rhythm with his mouth and hand, and when he thought Tim was going to come apart at the seams, he pushed his fingers into his own mouth alongside Tim’s cock. He took the newly wet digits and began his assault on Tim’s hole again, circling and tapping.

Tim was letting out a litany of muffled curses, mixed with Armie’s name... _fuck...Armie...hell...shit...please..._ by the time Armie pushed a finger inside.

With a high whine, Tim came, exploding into Armie’s throat. He swallowed as quickly as possible, lapping up anything that he hadn’t been able to contain, and sat up. Tim was still moaning, so Armie worked his finger in and out slowly, crooking it up and searching for that spot. With his other hand, he circled Tim’s wet cock and began a gentle dragging motion.

“Oh my god,” gasped Tim. “Armie, I can’t…”

“You can,” murmured Armie. “Hang in there, remember?”

Tim groaned and thrashed, but his dick began to harden again.

“There we go,” said Armie. “See? You’re young. Want me to keep going?”

Tim moaned and shoved his hips down, forcing Armies finger deeper inside.

“Good answer,” said Armie. “Ready for another one?”

“Yes,” gasped Tim. “Wait...in my...jacket.”

Armie paused. “What’s in your jacket?”

Tim grunted in frustration, and rocked his hips, trying to get Armie moving again. Armie obliged, but slowly.

“What’s in your jacket, Tim?” asked Armie. He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Condom,” gasped Tim. “And...lube. A packet.”

_Jesus Christ._ “Are you sure?” asked Armie. “We don’t have to--”

“I know. Go fucking get it or I swear to god--”

Armie moved fast at that point, pulling his finger out and earning a sharp gasp from Tim. He shuffled around in the dark, searching for Tim’s jacket in the sea of discard clothing.

“Hurry up,” said Tim.

“I’m trying,” said Armie. “Where the fuck...aha.”

He found the items in the left breast pocket, a condom and a single sachet of lube. He crawled back onto the bed and heard Tim’s sigh of relief as he wrapped his hands around Tim’s cock again.

“You came prepared,” said Armie.

“Uh huh,” murmured Tim.

“Why?” Armie took his hand away for a moment to tear open the packet of lube.

“Because I know myself,” he said. “I know the way I feel around you, and I guess I hoped...that we’d...something would…even though...ah, fuck...Armie, you know why.” He threw an arm across his face, suddenly embarrassed.

“Yeah,” Armie whispered. “I get it, baby. I do.”

At the sound of the endearment, Tim whimpered. “Say that again. Call me that again. Please.”

“Baby,” said Armie. “Baby, you tell me if it’s too much, okay. Just tell me what you want. You can have anything.”

“Fuck me,” said Tim. “That’s what I want. Right now, that’s what I want.”

Armie leaned up and claimed Tim’s mouth again, pouring everything he could into the kiss. “You got it, baby,” he said. “Thank you.”

He went to work in earnest then, pushing the lube up inside Tim with long, steady strokes, working him open with two fingers, then three. Tim writhed and moaned, his cock leaking again in small bursts every time Armie brushed against his prostate.

“Okay,” Armie murmured. He tore open the condom and rolled it over himself. “Ready?”

“Yes,” said Tim.

“You want to turn over?” asked Armie.

“No,” said Tim. “Like this. _Please._ I want _you._ ”

“You got me,” Armie replied. “Always.”

He shoved Tim’s knees higher, then lined himself up and pushed inside, working past the initial resistance, stopping with his head just barely past the tight ring of muscle. Tim whimpered.

“How you doing?” Armie asked. He ran his hands up Tim’s thighs and then his sides, pulled at his nipples. Tim keened.

“More,” said Tim. “Just…”

“Give it a second,” said Armie. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tim’s eyes blinked open. They were shining and glittering in the dim light, but he smiled. “I know.”

Armie circled his hand around Tim’s softened cock again, gently stroking until it began to harden. Tim breathed in and out noisily, throwing his head back against the pillow. Armie could feel him loosening, and when the resistance lessened, he pushed in farther, in a long, steady glide, until he was fully sheathed inside Tim’s channel.

“Oh, _god,_ ” Tim groaned.

“That’s it,” said Armie. “That’s all of me.”

“Jesus, _fuck_ ,” murmured Tim. “So...full.”

Armie leaned down and kissed Tim again, holding himself as still as possible, all the while working Tim’s cock lazily. He was surprised at how little urgency he felt. He could easily stay just like this for hours, on the edge but not quite, Tim beneath him, around him. There was no where else he needed to be.

After a while, Tim began to rock his hips slightly, as much as the position would allow.

“Armie,” he managed. “I need...I need…”

“I got you,” said Armie, lips trailing to Tim’s ear. “Hang on.”

He began to move, then, slowly. He pulled almost all the way out and then pushed back in at the same pace. He listened to the sounds Tim was making, and tilted his hips slightly in one direction or another until he was sure he was hitting exactly the right spot, dragging over Tim’s prostate with each thrust.

“Holy fuck,” groaned Tim. He grappled at Armie’s head, pulling his mouth back to Tim’s own. “Almost,” he gasped. “Just…please.”

Armie picked up the pace, moaning along with Tim. His hips began to jerk out of his control as he got closer to the edge, but he managed to hold back until he felt Tim stiffen beneath him. Then Tim was coming with a guttural cry, arching his back and painting their chests. His muscles clenched around Armie’s cock, and that was all it took for Armie to cry out and come right behind him.

Once they had finished riding the wave of sensation, Armie pulled out of Tim as gently as possible and discarded the condom. He managed to work the coverings of the bed out from under Tim, then he crawled into bed beside Tim, yanking the covers over them and pulling him close.

Tim sighed and melted into him. “Armie,” he whispered.

“Yes?” Armie nuzzled into Tim’s curls and breathed in deeply, elated for the first time since the night before.

“That was...everything.”

“It was just the beginning,” Armie whispered. “I promise.”

He drifted off to a contented sleep with Tim nestling into his arms.

* * *

Armie didn’t know what time it was when he returned to consciousness. He reached out and found the bed beside him empty, but still warm. He propped himself up and looked around, letting out a sigh of relief when he made out Tim’s thin form sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Tim?” he said. “What are you doing?”

He heard Tim sigh. Then he realized that Tim was dressed.

_No_ , he thought. _Please, no_.

Tim turned around. The light was a little brighter now, and he could see Tim’s face more clearly. Tim smiled.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m...I knew it would be amazing. That _you’d_ be amazing.”

“Why are you…” Armie swallowed, trying to shove down the panic that was bubbling up inside him. “Why are you dressed?”

“I thought I should...go,” he said.

“Go where?” Armie couldn’t keep his voice from breaking, god damnit.

“I didn’t mean for you to think...for this to....” he sighed again.

Armie closed his eyes. “Are you sorry? That it happened?”

“No,” said Tim quickly, and Armie opened his eyes again. Tim was shaking his head. “No, Armie, I am _so far from_ sorry. I’m...I know this looks bad, but I swear, I wanted that, and it...helped.”

“Helped with what?” Armie was amazed he was able to form words.

“Helped...me. I think. I can see things more clearly now.”

“And you’re leaving.”

Tim crawled back onto the bed towards Armie until he was kneeling beside him. “Yes,” he said. “I have to. Armie, I _have to_. I told you, I can’t think straight when you’re around. And that...all of _that_ didn’t change. There’s still the same problems, with me being dependent on you and putting that burden on _us_ when I want us to have the best chance possible. I need us to have the best chance possible, and if I can’t get over this...fear...we won’t make it. I won’t make it.”

Armie swallowed and nodded. “Okay,” he said. But it wasn’t okay. It wouldn’t be okay until he had Tim back, for good. “Are you...you won’t be home, then?”

Tim shook his head. “I don’t think we can survive that,” he said. “We’ll fall right back into the same pattern. This past week, I was trying to keep my head about it, and...I couldn’t. I was _weak_ against what was happening between us. When we’re together, I feel like...I’m totally overwhelmed. Like...the weight of this is so much more than I can handle. I can’t breathe. It’s like, on top of everything else, you’re so _big_ for me right now that I can’t remember _me_. And that’s terrifying.”

Armie stared at Tim. This, he could at least relate to. “I do understand. Tim, I feel like you’ve crawled inside every cell in my fucking body.”

“That doesn’t scare you?”

“I...yes. It fucking terrifies me, because here you are, about to walk out the door, and nothing has ever scared me more in my _life_. Not leaving home, not having to get by in an unfamiliar city where I knew no one, not opening the pub. Nothing scares me as much as knowing there’s nothing I can do to keep you from walking away. Even if you come back, there’s always a chance you’ll leave.” He dragged in a breath. “But being scared isn’t going to keep me from trying to have something amazing. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let being scared of getting hurt keep me from experiencing something incredible.”

Tim bit his lip. “Yeah. You’re right. But before we try...you have to let me figure this out.”

“Just…” Armie reached out a hand, and then pulled back. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch. “Tell me what I can do. To help. Tell me how I can fix this.”

Tim shifted closer. He placed his hand on Armie’s chest, in what was becoming a signature move. “No.” he said. Armie, _you_ can’t fix this. This is something only I can fix, and you have to let me do it.” He paused, then moved his hand from Armie’s chest and ran his knuckles down Armie’s cheek. “Please. Just give me time to fix it.”

Armie drew in a shaky breath. “Okay,” he said. “How much time do you need?”

Tim looked away, and then back. “You gave Liz ten days, sort of,” he said. “Can you give me a week? Just a week, and I’ll check back in.”

“You’ll know in a week?” asked Armie. It would be a long fucking week, but he could handle a week.

“No, I don’t...I can’t promise I’ll have any answers, or that I’ll be ready to move forward. But I promise to try to come up with something. And I promise that I won’t leave you hanging. After that, if you wanted to move on--”

“Never,” said Armie. “Don’t even--”

“Okay,” said Tim, laughing softly. “I think it’s best if I maybe...could I take the week off? From the pub? I know it’s bad timing, with Nick going on his honeymoon, but--”

“You can have whatever you want,” said Armie. “But I thought you wanted to keep your job if things didn’t work out between us.”

“I do. I think, though, that if I’m going to get anywhere, I can’t be spending every day with you. That defeats the purpose of me moving out.”

“You can have the week off,” said Armie. “Performances too?”

“Yeah. Best to...I guess I’ll see you at the wedding, but otherwise, let’s try to...be separate.” He began to gnaw at his lip again. “I feel like I need to remember who I am without you. Don’t you?”

“Don’t need to,” said Armie. “I remember. I was fine. Liked my work, liked my friends. Was complacent in a relationship that was stagnating. Sort of bored. Content, but not happy. Now? Now I’m happy. Excited about the future, and not just about a pub expansion.” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Not _right_ now. But...with you? Yeah.”

Tim smiled. “Well...I might give you the same answer. But at the moment it’s all mixed up in my head. I was being hurt and lost and fucking _miserable._ And then Luca called me with this gig, and I walked into your pub, and...things changed. You were...like this light that just burned so bright I couldn’t look away. I kept coming back because it was warm, and safe, and exciting all at once. And then you...I was in the worst place I’d ever been, and you were there to help put me back together. That’s...I can’t sort out what part of this is _me_ responding to _you_ and what part is me responding to the circumstances.”

“Oh,” said Armie. Something broke inside him. “I didn’t realize you were...that it might just be relief and not--”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” said Tim, and his hand was back on Armie’s chest again. “Fuck, this is why I sing things instead of saying them. I can’t get it right when I’m just talking. I didn’t mean what I’m feeling isn’t real. I just mean...I have to figure what parts of me I’m carrying into this, what I can give to you, and what parts I’m leaving behind, and right now it’s all tangled up.” He shrugged. “After everything that happened last spring, and this summer, and the fall...all of it...I haven’t had a chance to take stock of who I am now that it’s past. I’ve changed, and I don’t have a good handle on that yet. I guess I’m saying I need time to figure out who I am now, and what I want to be for myself...before I can be _yours_.”

Armie felt a strange sense of calm settle over him. Tim was going to be his. He was suddenly so sure of it, and he didn’t care -- well, he cared, but it wasn’t going to kill him -- how long it took for that to happen.

He placed his hand over Tim’s and squeezed. “Take all the time you need,” he said. “And I’ll be here, waiting, when you’re ready. Just make sure you come home.”

“Thank you,” said Tim. He leaned in and kissed Armie, and Armie tried to communicate everything he was feeling. It was over too quickly, and Tim was pulling back, climbing off the bed, slipping away.

He felt a quick chill of doubt, but pushed it aside. “Where will you be?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet,” said Tim. “I’ll figure it out. I won’t go back to the shelters. I have other options, now, especially if I can say it’s just for a week.  But I’ll text you. I’ll let you know later today, and tell you if it changes.”

“Okay,” said Armie. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.” He shoved his feet into his shoes, and laced them up. When he straightened up, he took a deep breath. “So...I guess...I’ll talk to you later.”

He turned towards the bedroom door. He hesitated a moment, then moved across the room, bent down, and picked something up off the floor.

“You said I could have it, so I’m taking this,” he said, holding up Armie’s jacket. “I’ll return it next week.”

Armie nodded. Tim could take whatever the fuck he wanted. He already had everything that mattered, anyway.

“Tim,” called Armie. Tim stopped and turned, question on his features. “I love you.”

Tim’s face broke into a broad smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I got that. I love you too. But you know that, because I already sang it.”

"Not just when I wake you up?" asked Armie, his mouth lifting in a half smile.

"All the time."

And then he slipped out the door, closing it behind him with a soft click.

Armie collapsed backwards on the mattress, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes and taking long, deliberate breaths. He felt like the air was being squeezed out of him. Part of him wanted to run after Tim and beg him to stay.

Most of him knew that Tim needed to walk away, so he could come back.

He didn’t sleep again, just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, for the next few hours. The sky got brighter around the edges of the curtains, and he heard stirring in the suite outside the door. Multiple voices. He waited.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he almost ignored it, but then thought it might be Tim. He reached for it and peered at the screen.

_Nick: We’re going for breakfast. Should we wait for you?_

Armie tapped out a quick reply.

_Armie: No, I’m nowhere near ready._

Nick responded right away.

_Nick: Okay, man. Let me know if you want to talk._

Armie heard the voices leave, and he finally dragged himself up. He dug into his bag and pulled on jeans and a sweater, ran his hands through his hair. He was a mess. He still had Tim all over him, but he wasn’t ready to deal with any of that yet.

A quick call down to the front desk settled the bills and arranged for late check-out. He texted Nick to let him know he was heading home but they had the suite and rooms until one. Then he shoved everything into his bag and walked out without a backward glance.

When he got home, he dropped his things in the hall and went straight for the guest room.

It was empty. Completely, this time. Tim’s duffle, his guitar, everything of his...was gone. That is, except for the computer and the home recording studio, all still boxed up, sitting on the desk. Armie moved towards it, and something fluttered on top of the computer box.

It was a note. _Don’t send these back yet,_ said Tim. _We might need them. And don’t be sad. I’ll talk to you soon._

He smiled, and sent up a prayer of thanks. This wasn’t over. It was far from over.

It was just the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Tim said, don't be sad. 
> 
> As Armie said, this is just the beginning. And I intend to write all the way to the true ending.
> 
> Love.
> 
> Oh, and you may have noticed there's another "chapter" but it's not really another chapter. It's more of a...trailer.


	23. Trailer for Part Two - Cor Cordium: The Musician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So that you know for sure that I'm not lying about Part Two, please have a little trailer, complete with stunning cover art by Chalamazed (stmonkeys). I am forever grateful for this stunning gift.
> 
> Part Two will be coming after a (brief) hiatus.
> 
> It will be brief, I promise. Just long enough for me to get my hands around this part of the story. Thank you for sticking with me, even after I ripped your heart out. I love you all.

**Coming Soon:**

**Cor Cordium: A Neighborhood Pub, Part Two**

 

 

**Cor Cordium: The Musician**

 

 

 

_Preview:_

 

There were too many people on the subway platform.

Tim had grown up in New York City, was fucking used to crowds and spaces that were teeming with people, all with their own independent agendas and missions and goals. He understood that when you lived in a city you had to get comfortable with the knowledge that you weren’t that important in the grand scheme of whatever, you were just a tiny ant crawling your way over obstacles and other ants to get to your prize before someone else took it.

That was fine. Rush hour in the subway — whether in New York or in Boston — was nuts and you had to just pull in your elbows and keep your head down and try not to get pissed at having people in your personal space.

But, Jesus. Did they have to keep fucking _kicking_ his guitar case?

He tucked a heel inside the edge of the case and pulled it two inches closer. The only two inches he had left.

All the while, he kept up the steady strumming of his guitar and tried not to lose track of the lyrics. Where was he? Oh, right—

**_With only seconds left_ **

**_With only seconds left_ **

**_Your fingers in my hair_ **

**_I can feel you everywhere_ **

Tricky chord progression — why the fuck had he written that as part of a chorus, Jesus — and then a brief interlude. Tim looked up, just in time to see…

_Oh, hell no._

A guy in a pinstriped suit planted his shiny fucking shoe right _in the middle_ of the open guitar case, on top of the stray bills and change the crowd had been tossing in for the past hour. He fixed the guy with a glare, but it went unnoticed.

Sometimes, busking sucked. But it wasn't like he had a choice. At least in October, there were options. He could play in the subway, or on the street.

He tried not to think too hard about what would happen in a month or so. The time that buskers fled south for the winter, like a bunch of fucking birds.


End file.
